Readers, I Shrank the Inspector
by Xx.Triple A.xX
Summary: Need I say more? Valjean and Cosette adopt a 7-year-old boy who seems to hate Valjean and has an uncanny fascination with upholding the law. Even though he's 7. Hmm. Eventually the truth must come out, but until then...let chaos reign. AU fic.
1. The Boy

It was late at night when Cosette opened the front door and looked down at the young boy standing near the doorstep. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old, and while his dress and hairstyle resembled those of a regular _gamin_ – his clothes were just a little too big, and his hair was a spiky mess – his bearing was that of a military officer, and his speech (as she was soon to find out) was much too sophisticated for him to be any ordinary street rat, if that was in fact what he was.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said politely, his eyes taking in her obvious youth and slight figure, "but may I beg the sanctuary of your home for just a short while? I am being pursued by several men of considerably more, ah, _bulk_ than myself, and -"

He was interrupted by a harsh cry that came from behind him.

"Oi, there 'e is! After 'im!"

Cosette's eyes widened at the sight of the tall, brawny men in the street, and she held the door open. "Quickly, come inside. You can escape out the back."

"No," he said, and his expression hardened. "No, I will not put you in unnecessary danger, mademoiselle," and he turned to face the men, his shoulders thrown back and his chin held high in the face of his approaching doom.

Cosette appreciated his noble sentiment, but she had absolutely no desire to see a young boy, especially one with such good manners, be ripped to pieces by a group of men three times his size.

"Father!" she cried, turning and calling into the house. "Father, come quickly! I need your help!"

She had hardly needed to say anything beyond "Father"; Valjean was at her side more quickly than she might have imagined possible.

"What is it, my dear? Is something wrong?"

"Yes," she said, and pointed out into the dimly lit street at the boy, who was already being set upon by the villainous men that had pursued him. One of the men, upon hearing Cosette's cry into the house for help, had broken away from the immediate group and approached the house. Now he loomed up out of the shadows and made as if to set a heavy hand on Cosette's shoulder. As she shied away in fear, Valjean lashed out with a fist and knocked the man to the ground, where he lay and remained in a quite unconscious state.

"Stay here and lock the door behind me," Valjean told his daughter firmly, and ran out into the street. In just a few minutes, the three men surrounding the boy had been dispatched – one lay unconscious on the ground like the first Valjean had dealt with, while the other two took off down the street, taking their fear for their lives and several substantial bruises with them. Then the ex-convict turned his attention to the young boy who was now lying in the middle of the street. One hand was pressed against his side, but it was doing nothing to stop the rather obvious flow of blood issuing from what appeared to be a rather deep cut just underneath his ribs. As Valjean knelt by his side in order to pick him up, a flash of worry shot through him at the fact that the boy wasn't making a sound, apart from his rather labored breathing.

"It's alright. I've got you now. You're not going to get hurt," Valjean murmured, and was startled when the boy cringed away from his touch, muttering something between clenched teeth about not needing his pity.

"You may not need my pity, but you do need my help," the man informed him.

"No…I'm fine…" The boy tried to struggle to his feet and finally let out an involuntary yelp of pain, falling back towards the ground as he did so. Valjean caught him and picked him up effortlessly.

"Noooo," the boy moaned, squirming weakly in his grip. "Don't…want your help…24…246…"

And then he passed out. Valjean had not heard the last part of his anguished speech, due to the fact that he had been issuing instructions to Cosette as to how to take care of the boy while he went to fetch a doctor.

Cosette nodded when he was finished, her eyes right with determination. "But, Father," she said as he turned to leave, "what will I do if those men come back?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "They won't," he said finally, and then he was gone.

* * *

**A3:** Alright, so here's the deal. This is an AU fic, which means that I don't have to deal with the other characters or follow the storyline if I don't want to. This makes me very happy. :) So, anyway, Valjean's age is undetermined. The Valjean in my head is not really old, but on the other hand, nor is he particularly young, so he's like…42. Maybe. Cosette is around 16-17. I just wanted to clear that up – for the readers and myself.

**Julian:** Oi, why I am helping you with the authoressial notes here?

**A3:** Because you have a lightsaber, and can therefore protect me from rampaging fans, revolutionaries, and angry characters.

**Julian:** Oh. And you…have problems with that sort of thing?

**A3:** (Deadly serious tone of voice) All the time. (Turns to readers) Drop a review, won't you? This is the result of an idea I've had brewing in my head for quite a while and I'd like to know what people think about it.

**Julian:** Wait a minute. YOU have a lightsaber, too! A double-bladed one!

**A3:** Yeah, well, that's not the _point_. You know the old adage, "Come for the action, stay for the eye candy."

**Julian:** I've never, EVER heard that.

**Erik:** (Pops up out of nowhere) Basically, it means she wants to ensure that people read her story by including you, a pretty Elf boy, in the end authoressial notes.

**Julian: **(Expression of horror)

**A3:** (Aside) Thanks a lot, Erik. (To Julian) Don't worry! I won't let them get you! I will protect your Jedi Knight innocence! They can look, but they can't touch! That's the policy!

**Julian:** (Staggers off)

**A3:** Ack!! …JULIAN! COME BACK! I'M SORRYYYYYYYY!


	2. Javert's Internal Dialogue

**DISCLAIMER WHICH I FORGOT IN THE FIRST CHAPTER:** Nothing is mine but the plot. HA! Now just try and sic lawyers on me! ...On second thought, please don't.

**A POSSIBLY IMPORTANT AUTHORESSIAL NOTE:** This chapter was written late at night, while I had a cold. I still _have_ said cold. That being said, I'd like to point out that Javert's OOC-ness is not my fault. Okay, it _is_ my fault, but there's an explanation for it. Y'see, I figure that if Javert has been turned into a young boy, he ought to kind of _act_ like a young boy, too - at any rate, that's what I'm going with. Maybe his transformation stuck him with 7-year-old tendencies. Ooh, now THERE'S a scary thought.

...Besides, it's more humorous this way, don't you think so? :)

* * *

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

I awoke to find myself surrounded by people. I had not yet opened my eyes, but I could tell because I could _feel_ them around me. Also, they were talking in low, hushed tones. One was a voice that I didn't recognize, saying something about my health and how I shouldn't be moved if at all possible. The other…

"Yes, thank you, doctor. Thank you very much."

_What the…!!_

"YOU!" I exploded, sitting bolt upright and then letting out an agonized scream as pain shot through my side. I bit it off almost the instant after it left my mouth, but it had still left, and I couldn't disguise the fact that I was in pain as I clutched at my side and bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood. Throughout all my years as a member of the police force, I had never actually been fatally wounded, or even near-fatally.

This felt pretty darn close to fatal, if you asked me.

Then THAT VOICE was nearby, and large – huge, actually – hands were taking hold of my wrists, telling me to keep my hands away from the bandages, to stop moving in case I re-opened the wound. It still hurt too much to open my eyes, but I fought the hands with all of my strength. I didn't need his pity. I didn't need his care. I would be fine without his help.

Then I realized that "all of my strength" was practically nothing against his steady grip. In fact, it was hardly even a grip. He wasn't even putting out half an effort, and was easily keeping my arms still as I tried to fight him. Irritably, I wondered why I was having such a hard time. I wasn't _that_ badly injured, was I?

And that was when I remembered.

_CRAP!! I'm a 7-year-old boy!_

The transformation had taken place weeks before – in fact, right when I was trying drown myself in the Seine. Mostly because of _this_ guy, who was pinning me to the couch, or bed, or whatever I was lying on. However, before I could jump, a hand had grabbed me from behind and yanked me off the parapet, and my head had struck the ground and I had been knocked unconscious. When I awoke, I'd noticed that things seemed a lot bigger. Then I noticed that the clothes I was wearing weren't mine, and were in fact a little bit too big. _Then_ I saw my coat folded neatly on the ground nearby, and when I went to put it on…well, suffice to say that if I ever came close to suffocating, it was then. I had never quite realized how _heavy_ thick material is, especially when it belongs to someone who _used_ to be a man who stood well over six feet.

In a nutshell, I realized that I had somehow managed to become a young boy. And I didn't find it particularly amusing.

Rather than attempting to re-commit suicide, and risk another drastic regression, I decided to try and find out what had happened to me. I sold my coat, hat, pistol and nightstick for some pocket money, keeping only my badge. After all, I was still Inspector Javert. I was just physically a lot shorter, younger, and less bulky. And a sight less intimidating.

Unfortunately, one day I made the mistake of showing my money in a public place (I was buying something, and carelessly spilled the contents of my purse on the table for the vendor – and everybody else – to see). Later that night, as I made my way through the streets in search of a place to sleep, I was accosted by a group of mean-looking and ill-intentioned men. I put some skills I had learnt as a police inspector to good use, and made my way to this house, where I requested sanctuary, then refused it – as I was not about to allow a young woman to be trapped inside of her own house with angry, grown men of questionable chivalry pounding at the door – and was subsequently beat up by the criminals, then rescued by the one man I loathed – _loathe_ – most in the entirety of Creation.

I say again – _crap_.

And then I thought of something else, which made far worse swear words flit through my mind. This was Jean Valjean, the escaped convict, No. 24601! True, I had originally planned to kill myself in order to turn him in – and I realized now, as I continued my futile struggle against his immovable grip, that if I went ahead with my other plan of turning him in, I would just make myself and my supposedly noble efforts on his behalf look stupid. _Really_ stupid. Also, I doubted that the local police force would believe a young boy saying that some strange man was an escaped convict. Yes, I could see it already – they'd laugh at me and kick me out into the street. Brilliant.

So, that was out of the question. As was waiting until I turned into an adult again, since – and I had just realized this – I had left a _suicide note_, telling the people at the department of my _resignation_. More mental swearing. Now there was no way I could turn him in, without looking crazy or something.

Agggh! Back to the point! If he found out that I was Javert, he would either do one of two things. He would either laugh at me – which would only serve to infuriate me – or feel pity for me, and try to take care of me. I couldn't stand that.

…On second thought, this was the same man who had set me free when he was _supposed_ to kill me, and now I was here in the guise of a young boy who had, in a way, rescued his daughter from the hands of evil brigands. I was also injured, and somewhat helpless. Wonderful. He was going to keep me here and care for me no matter _what_.

My mind snapped back to the present, and I opened my eyes to glare up at him.

"Let me GO!" I yelled, which only served to send a slicing pain shooting through my injury. "You're hurting me!"

"I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself, child," he answered in a voice that held no tones of reprimand or anger. Just…obvious worry and interest in and for my well-being. "If you don't cease your struggles, you'll re-open your wound."

Every bone in my body resisted against surrendering to this man, and it _would_ be surrender – of a minor kind, but _still_! I wondered angrily why, exactly, I had decided to go against sending him back to the galleys. Then, pain throbbed in my wound, and my common sense took over. I sighed heavily and went limp in defeat. He smiled and released me from his grip.

"That's better," he said. "Now, are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?"

"I don't want you to take care of me," I said, continuing to glare at him. "I want to go home."

"Home? Where do you live? Who are your parents?" he asked kindly, sitting down on the edge of the – couch, I saw now. I was lying on a couch.

"I don't have parents," I snapped. "My mother's dead and I don't know what happened to my father. And I don't live anywhere, but I don't want to live here."

Something – sorrow, perhaps? – flickered across his features. "Why not?"

And suddenly I realized that I didn't really have an answer to that question. The only _definite_ answer I had was, "I'm Inspector Javert and you're my sworn enemy" – but then he'd just think I was a lunatic. Besides, I had resigned. I wasn't even an inspector anymore. Wonderful. I frantically searched for something to say and snatched the first thing that presented itself to me.

"I don't know! Do I have to have a reason? Maybe I don't like people!"

"But _you_ are a person. Therefore, if you don't like people, you must not like yourself."

I glared at him. "If you must know, there are days when I absolutely _hate_ myself, but that's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to stay out of my affairs!"

Wow. Why on earth did I choose _him_ to tell that to? HIM! OF ALL PEOPLE! Had I been able to get up, I would have gone and struck my head against a wall. Repeatedly.

"Oh, my. Where's the well-mannered boy I met last night?"

Valjean looked up. I recognized the girl's voice, but I liked seeing the people I conversed with, so I pushed myself up on my elbows and peered over the back of the couch. The girl from the night before – a very pretty girl – was standing in the doorway, her hands clasped and one eyebrow raised in a somewhat motherly expression of disapproval.

"Er…" I said, unable to think of a way to respond to her query. "Um…uh…" _Drat._ "I don't…know?"

She smiled. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Cosette – Cosette Fauchelevent." She dropped a pretty curtsy. "And who are you?"

"My name is -" I stopped, a thrill of horror running through my veins and turning my blood cold. In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to introduce myself as. I could not – _would not_ introduce myself as Inspector Javert, for reasons I've already been through. On the other hand, I had never used an alibi in my entire career as an officer of the law. Ever. The thought of referring to myself by another name had never even crossed my mind, until now.

Fortunately, I was saved from having to make an immediate answer as everything began to swim and go black in front of my eyes. Pain from my wound and the strain of holding myself up combined to make me terribly dizzy, and I collapsed on the couch just in time to pass out.

_Again_.

* * *

**A3:** Aww, isn't he charming. Seems like Valjean's going to have his hands full with this little punk...muttermutter You wouldn'tve guessed that the man who reveres authority and loathes all forms of rebellion would turn out to be a rebel himself. Well...I guess he's entitled to act thusly towards his arch-enemy, even if his arch-enemy doesn't _know_ he's his arch-enemy. After all, it's not like he's done anything illegal. Yet.

Oh, that reminds me! I have a special treat for you reviewers. Julian isn't mad at me anymore, but I've decided to let him off the hook and use somebody else in these end notes of mine. He's not one of my muses, but I think you people will like him anyway.

**Enjolras:** (Pouty) You said that my barricade wasn't a barricade. I'm not speaking to you.

**A3:** Dude, you were camped out on the balcony...of the stairs...that's NOT a barricade.

**Enjolras:** See? SEE? SHE'S DOING IT AGAIN! It is TOO a barricade! I defy anyone who says it isn't!

**A3:** (Flatly) It's not a barricade.

**Enjolras:** YES IT IS!!

**A3:** No, it's not. But I might call it a barricade if you ask the readers to review.

**Enjolras:** Really?! Okay, everybody, you heard her. Ahem. Please, please, PLEASE review!! (To Triple A) There, was that good enough? Now you have to say it. C'mon! It's a barricade, right?

**A3:** It's not a barricade.

**Enjolras:** (Jaw drops)

**A3:** Hey, I said might. That's not a promise. But I'll give you some candy, if that'll make you feel better.

**Enjolras:** ...I hate you. Excuse me while I go rally the people from my BARRICADE. (Stalks off)

**A3:** Ergh...he doesn't seem happy. (Cheerful) Oh well! I'll make it up to him later by giving him a new flag. Yeah. He'll like that.

**Enjolras:** (Faintly) _Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men! IT IS THE MUSIC OF A PEOPLE WHO WILL NOT BE SLAVES AGAIN!_

**A3:** Argh.


	3. Javert's Great Escape

**Disclaimer:** I own zed. Except the plot. HAHA! (Runs off)

**Authoressial Note of Potential Interest:** I AM NOT DEAD! Yet! So y'all don't need to worry about that. :P I still have the time and willpower to update! Just not every day. Oh, and I'm leaving for camp on Monday, so that'll be one whole WEEK without any updates. Don't panic. I'll write more of the story before I leave and put it up when I get back, so that way you won't have to wait for me to write it. :) I've also got some more chapters done ahead of time already, so I'll put those up before I leave to tide you people over.

Enough of this. ON TO THE STORY! :D

* * *

Cosette walked through the sitting room and replaced a book on a tall, well-polished shelf. Turning, she caught sight of the boy lying on the couch, and a smile flickered over her lips. He was curled up in a ball, and had one of the cushions clutched tightly to his chest. It took no great deduction to tell that he was cold.

Quietly, she moved across the room towards him to take down the blanket from the back of the couch and lay it over him. However, before she got there, his eyes flickered open and he stared at her.

"Good day, mademoiselle," he greeted her politely. She smiled.

"Good evening, actually. After you passed out that last time, you were unconscious for a while, then you woke up for a moment only to fall asleep. I hope I didn't wake you up."

"No. You did not." He sat up, and she caught the grimace that flickered across his features.

"Lie back down," she ordered him, coming over to the couch and pushing him gently down onto his back. "You're not well."

"Even if I'm not well, I can hardly spend my time lying on the couch until I get better," he protested, trying to get back up. She pushed him down again, this time a little harder, and he let out an involuntary yelp as he fell back to the couch.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "Did I hurt you?"

He bit his lip before responding. "No, I'm perfectly fine. I was just startled, that's all."

"Your speech is quite polite and well-organized, for that of a 7-year-old," she said, sitting down beside him on the edge of the couch. He did not fail to recognize the fact that in doing so, she had effectively trapped him there. He wondered if she had just thought of that, or did it through instinct, or maybe she was used to dealing with difficult patients who wouldn't stay put...

He remembered that she was talking to him, and snapped out of his thoughts. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, I was thinking of something else and did not hear you."

She smiled. "I just wanted to know where you learned to talk like that."

"Like what?" he asked. "Oh, you mean…er…" He closed his eyes, trying to think of how to explain it. "I was orphaned when I was very young…" Well, not _orphaned_, per say. His father was at the galleys when his mother died. For all Javert knew, he could still be there. Though he'd have to be insanely old. "…and I was taken to live at an orphanage. And then I was…adopted…by an elderly couple…and they taught me how one should talk and act and…suchlike things."

Not exactly true, he thought inwardly, accompanying it with a mental wince as he saw the girl nod understandingly. In reality, he had watched many different people and learned from them, as well as having taken advantage of any educational offers he was offered. In the end, however, he had taught himself almost everything he knew.

"You poor thing," the girl said, shaking her head in a pitying manner. "So, why were those men after you earlier? What did you do?"

"I…" It wasn't like the truth revealed anything about himself – anything he'd rather keep secret. "They saw me take out my money earlier and they wanted to steal it from me."

Something – distrust – flickered across Cosette's features. "Where did you get money?" she asked politely. He knew what she was thinking, though. If he didn't, he wouldn't have gotten to be where he was today – er, had been a few weeks ago. Before he'd tried to kill himself and ended up getting turned into a child.

"I didn't steal it," he said, though his voice held no resentment. Had he been in her place, he would have suspected the very same thing. Though, _he_ would have stated his suspicions outright, rather than trying to disguise them behind a polite query. "I sold some old clothes of mi – my father's." He looked her in the eyes. "I _don't_ steal."

"I believe you," Cosette said quietly. "And you won't have to, not while you're staying with us. My father and I will take care of you."

_My father_...Javert's eyes narrowed at the mention of Valjean. Cosette didn't notice, instead following her statement up with another question.

"By the way, I still don't know your name. I'm Cosette Fauchelevent, as I mentioned earlier."

"Er," he said. "My name is…um…where is your father, anyway? Surely he wouldn't leave you alone all by yourself?"

"Oh, no," she said with a smile, oblivious to his abrupt change in subject – or simply ignoring it. "I'm here with the housemaid. He's gone out to get some more medicine for your side – medicine that will take away the pain."

"It doesn't hurt," Javert said fiercely. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are. And that's why you pass out every time you overexert yourself, is it? Not only were you injured, you're weak from at least a couple weeks of bad sleep, malnutrition and _continual_ overexertion. At least, that's what the doctor said."

"I don't care what he said," Javert muttered. "It doesn't hurt!"

As a police inspector, Javert had made a point of not lying in his day-to-day life. He believed that personal honesty was a thing to be valued and polished. But as a 7-year-old boy, he didn't particularly care. And anyway, when it came to pain, he _always_ lied. Far be it from him to show his weakness to anyone – especially not a lady, and _especially_ not to Jean Valjean. Not that he was _here_, but still.

"Anyway," he added after a moment of patronizing silence from Cosette, "I have to go to the bathroom."

This was another, slightly more serious lie, and part of Javert's Grand Plan of Escape from the Residence of No. 24601. Not that Cosette needed to know _that_. She probably didn't even know that her father was an ex-convict. Well, technically he was _still_ a convict. He was just an _escaped_ convict.

And even if Javert couldn't catch him, the last thing he _was_ going to do was stay in his house and let Valjean show him more of that forgiving pity that he'd forced upon him at the barricade. It was exactly that sort of thing that the former inspector couldn't stand – from _anybody_, though it was even worse coming from his most hated enemy of all time.

He allowed Cosette to lead him to the bathroom down the hall, then went inside, locked the door behind himself, and looked around for a window. A soft exclamation of triumph emitted from his lips as he found one, a bit higher up than a window might usually be. Had he still been a fully grown man, there was no way he could have slipped through it, what with the generally broad frame that he had once possessed. For the first time, he was grateful for his transformation as he unlocked the window and slipped through into the yard beyond.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been expecting the ground to be quite so far away.

* * *

Jean Valjean, loving father, escaped convict and all-around benevolent human being, walked through his house and found his daughter sitting in a chair by the hall that led out of the living room, reading a book. A glance at the couch showed him that the boy was missing.

"He's in the bathroom," Cosette said at her father's questioning glance, and then her brow crinkled into the beginnings of a frown. "Actually, I'm beginning to get a little worried. He's been in there for quite some time now, and when I went to see if he was alright, he wouldn't answer. The door is locked, too, so I can't get in – what's wrong, Father?"

Valjean's mouth had twisted in a wry smirk. "Cosette, darling, I want you to stay here. I'll be right back." And with that, he went back outside, leaving his confused but trusting daughter in the house.

After spending 19 years at the galleys in Toulon, Valjean knew just about every escape-related trick in the book – or any book, for that matter – and what Cosette had just described to him sounded like pretty damning evidence of an escape attempt to him. He knew that with the boy's wound, he couldn't have gotten far, so he decided to start near the bathroom window – the obvious portal of escape – and work his way out.

The last thing he expected was to find the boy lying directly _beneath_ the bathroom window, clutching his side with one hand and his ankle with the other, alternately cursing and whimpering as he lay in his helpless position. And whimper he should, because as Valjean drew closer, he saw that the boy had not only managed to re-open his wound and apparently injure his ankle, but he had nicked his head on a large rock near the window. And head wounds bleed. A _lot_.

Valjean was not upset about the fact that the boy had tried to escape. He wouldn't have gotten very far anyway – maybe to the front gate – before realizing that it was futile and he was too badly injured to go on. No, what had Valjean upset was the fact that the boy would not only have ultimately failed in his attempt, but he had _also_ injured himself even more severely in the process. And he hadn't even managed to move a single step, it appeared.

"What the devil were you thinking, child?" Valjean demanded, effortlessly scooping the boy up in his arms. Javert started to struggle, but a piercing pain tore through his side and he stopped instantly, biting back an agonized yelp. "You could have killed yourself! What the blazes did you think you were doing? Where were you planning on going?"

"It would've worked," Javert snapped. "I simply misjudged the distance between the windowsill and the ground, that's all."

"I would say you _greatly_ misjudged the distance. You are an idiot," Valjean said testily. Then, not noticing the way Javert bristled at the insult, "I suppose we all were, at age 7." He looked down at Javert, who glared defiantly up at him. "But really. I would have thought you would be happy to have people looking after and taking care of you. Most _gamin_s would."

"I am NOT a _gamin_!" Javert exploded without thinking, and then bit his tongue. So much for his cover identity.

"What are you, then?" Valjean asked, entering the house and making his way back to the living room. Javert's eyes narrowed as the man laid him down on the couch.

"Trust me, you _don't_ want to know. At least…not what I was," he muttered, dropping his gaze as he did so.

"Try me," Valjean said encouragingly. Javert's gaze snapped up to his, angry and fierce.

"Leave me _alone_ -" His mouth snapped shut mere instants before the title sprang from his lips.

_Leave me _alone_, 24601_!

"Very well," said Valjean, and stood up. Javert stared up at him.

"Aren't you going to yell at me?" he demanded. "Reprimand me or something?"

"Why would I do that?" Valjean asked calmly, and smiled at him. _Smiled_. At _him_. "You had previously made it quite clear that you don't want to be here, and I of all people should have been the one to see your escape attempt coming. I believe your new injuries are punishment enough. I for one hold no grudges against you. On the contrary," he said, turning to leave the room, "my curiosity has been aroused, and I am now more determined than previously to know who you are and where you are from. After all, if you're not a _gamin_, whoever you live with now – or lived with – must be worried about you and wondering where you are. I'm going to go get some bandages now. We'll have the doctor come see you again in the morning."

With that, he left the room, leaving Javert to stare after him in something akin to amazement.

"Huh," was all he had time to utter before Cosette descended upon him like an angel of vengeance (or something like that), demanding to know what he had done and why he had done it, and once her questions were satisfactorily answered, to fuss over him like a mother bird might with her chick.

_Bloody #&! I HATE YOU, VALJEAN!_

* * *

**A3:** Please tell me what you think! The lack of reviews is depressing. It's making Enjolras cry.

**Enjolras:** (Tied up and gagged in corner) Mrrf mglr GMFFLE!

**A3:** Let's see a few tears and maybe THEN we'll let you go. I might even give you a cookie. How's that sound?

**Enjolras:** (Glare of DOOM)

**A3:** (Immune) Please review! And leave a cookie or two for the revolutionary while you're at it, if you would.


	4. Bad Guys

**Disclaimer:** I actually DO own the characters in this chapter! Moving on, I do NOT own Les Mis. But THESE are mine! MUAHAHA!

**Authoressial Note of IMPORTANCE (for once):** Ahhh, I'm SO SORRY! I didn't get those extra chapters up like I said I would - but here's a new one, which I posted RIGHT before leaving for camp (so it may not be as well-edited as I would like it to be). BUT - fear not, my loyal readers! I DID write more chapters, I just didn't get them posted, and I can't post them today because I don't have time, but I WILL post them once I get back from camp! So, with that in mind...g'bye for now!

* * *

"You WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"

A chair flew overhead and smashed into the far wall, splintering into a great deal of much smaller pieces. Henchmen ducked as several other items followed the chair: cups, plates, the occasional utensil and a large lamp.

"IDIOTS!" the unseen figure in the darkness at the back of the room raged. "I am staffed with IDIOTS! Incompetent, nincompoopish, careless, stupid IDIOTS! You STABBED him?! UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE THE GOODS TO BE DAMAGED!!"

"Sorry, guv," said one of the henchmen nervously. "But 'e was kickin' like a madman, an' 'e broke Larry's nose, guv!"

"I. _Don't_. CARE!! I DON'T CARE! THAT'S WHY I GAVE YOU THE _CHLOROFORMED RAG_, YOU FOOLS!"

"Oh! Is tha' wut Tom wiped 'is nose on earlier, cuz 'e passed out cold an' we 'ad to leave 'im…" The henchman trailed off as an ominous silence filled the room and continued for some time.

Then the angry voice spoke again. "Look here, you imbeciles, this is _important_. Our client wants a son, yes? We _give_ him a son. _I_ give him a son. I should be able to say, 'I _gave_ him a son', but you morons messed it all up. You _finally_ find someone who is obviously desperate enough to end their life, yes? Standing on a bridge, about to leap and end it all. You yank him down and dash him with the powder, dress him in the clothes I gave you, and _then_, just because of some nearby commotion, you _run off and leave the goods_. IDIOTS, I say again! And when you come back, he's gone. _Perfect_. Then, you find him three weeks later, but when you confront him, some 'giant' comes along and smashes you all left and right. Feh."

There was another long and ominous silence.

"And not ONLY did YOU, Moe, STAB HIM WITH A KNIFE – ARRRGH! HOW COULD YOU _DO_ THAT?! Alright, calm, calm…deep breaths…AIIIIEEE! YOU _LOST_ HIM! ALL OF YOU LOST HIM! GAH! WHY WAS I CURSED WITH YOU IDIOTS?! _WHY_?! AHHH! I DID NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!"

The henchmen started ducking and dodging again as objects began to fly once more.

"GET OUT! _**OUT**_!! AND DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU'VE FOUND HIM! AND WHEN I SEE HIM, HE'D BETTER BE IN TOP CONDITION! D'you HEAR me?! TOP! OR _ELSE_!!"

The henchmen broke and fled for the door, bursting out into the gray morning and pouring rain. They stood together in a semicircle for a time, listening to the screams and sounds of chaos coming from inside. Finally, one of them spoke.

"Well, you 'eard the guv'nor. Let's go find 'im."

"But 'e can't kick us out!" another protested. "We _live_ there, blokes!"

"Oh, yes 'e can," said the third man. " 'E's the boss. 'E can do that."

A fourth man came running up the alley and joined them. "You scoundrels left me all by myself in the rain! Truthfully, you are all cads and cowards! Let us enter the building, shall we? Forsooth, I am starved. Perhaps our master will have some sort of sustenance to -"

Another crash from inside the building caused his friends to seize him by the arms and drag him away.

"Auugh! Release me! Have you all gone mad?!"

"No, but th' boss IS mad. STARK STARING mad. And angry on top o' tha'. Now, let's go. 'E says we're not allowed back until we find th' boy an' bring 'im back – and 'e's got ter be in top condition, too," explained the henchman known as Jeremy.

"Oh, jolly good! I can handle that! Where are we going again?" asked Tom vaguely.

"Y'know," said Moe – the violent one – "fer all yer fancy talk and smarts, Tom, yer a darned scatterbrain a' times. Now let's GO!"

And with that, Larry, Tom, Moe, and Jeremy walked down to the end of the alley and disappeared through the rain into the crowded street beyond.

* * *

**A3:** I know it's short, but I'M kind of glad it is, because its length means that I was able to post it prior to leaving for camp. And that makes me happy. :) Anyway, please review! 'Twould be much appreciated!


	5. Deja Vu

**Authoressial Note:** WOOHOO! I'm back! I got back yesterday, actually, and I only got around to updating TODAY - but here I am, updating, which should make you all happy. :) Just on a side note, I don't really know where this story is going exactly, so it may seem to go off on rabbit trails sometimes in the future - please, bear with me. This is my first Les Mis fanfiction, and I'm having enough of a hard time keeping Javert in character as it is. I think I'm entitled to a few rabbit trails. :P Maybe I'll post a couple of oneshots to practice writing him. After all, he has most of the funny lines in this story, and I'm having a spot of trouble trying to keep him in character (as I've already mentioned) AND simultaneously keep the story's "humor" genre accurate. The original Javert just wasn't a very funny person, you see. So again, I ask you - please forgive rabbit trails and OOC-ness. This story may very well undergo a vicious editing process upon completion. :D  
**  
Disclaimer:** I actually don't own a single thing, except the plot and a few original characters. So, HA!

* * *

**.Javert's POV.**

"My God."

Though spoken in hushed tones, the fervent prayer was what woke me up. I suppose it was because I was such a light sleeper.

I sat up slowly, stubbornly ignoring the pain in my side. The doctor had come earlier that day – for the second time – and re-bound my injury, bandaged my head, and wrapped my ankle – which, while it wasn't broken, was still sprained. Needless to say, I had been irritated at all of this. Any chance of escape now was futile – and not just because of my new injuries. Valjean and Cosette, not to mention their housekeeper, were continually checking up on me, making sure I was "comfortable", asking me if there was anything I needed.

Ha! I knew imprisonment when I saw it! They were like _jailers_ to me! This was like being held at the barricade, except the threat of potential death did not loom, and one of the jailers was petite, pretty, and made me warm milk and cookies and insisted that I take naps, and read to me and sang me _lullabies_.

Lullabies. _For goodness' sake_.

Not that I was saying that I didn't _sleep_ better afterwards…but STILL. Lullabies. Good heavens.

"Javert…_why_?"

_Eh?_ I perked up at the sound of my name – and coming in such anguished tones in the convict's voice, too. Cautiously, I stood up and limped slowly in the direction of the voice, being careful not to make too much noise – or _any_ noise, if at all possible.

I came to a halt by the dining room door and peered inside. Valjean was sitting at the table, a newspaper held loosely in his hands. He seemed to be shaking, and I realized after a moment or two of trying to figure out what was wrong, that he was _crying_.

For some reason, this filled me with horror – even more so when his next words revealed what – or more accurately, _who_ – he was crying about.

"Oh, Javert. Javert, I never wanted this. I thought…oh, God. I would rather spend the rest of my life at the galleys than…than to have someone end their life needlessly because of me…especially you. _Especially_ you."

I _almost_ spat out some sort of bitter, sarcastic comment about how I hardly needed the pity of a convict. Almost. But not quite.

Leaving Valjean alone with his sorrow, I limped quietly back to the living room, welcoming the cold and unfriendly darkness. Curling up under my blanket, I tried to go back to sleep while simultaneously refusing to think about the last time somebody had cried for me, when I was about the age I physically was now, in a dark cell in a gloomy prison.

My mother.

* * *

"Good morning, Luc!" Cosette trilled as she entered the living room. I blinked and stared at her, trying to figure out who she was talking to. Then I remembered – Luc was my alias. My first name, as a matter of fact – the name that almost nobody knew. Nobody had _called_ me by my first name since my mother died.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," I said automatically. She giggled.

"Oh, you silly boy, just call me Cosette. Look, I've brought you some breakfast!"

"Thank you very much," I said politely, taking the tray she handed me. "You didn't need to. I'm sure I could make it to the dining room."

"Really? But Father and the doctor both say that the less you move about, the faster you heal. Speaking of which, how do you feel this morning?"

"Better, thank you," I lied. My ankle was quietly throbbing from last night's exertion. "And you?"

"I am well," she responded with a smile. "You know, I never properly thanked you for what you did for me that night – rescuing me."

"I didn't rescue you, really," I said, uncertain of how to respond to this sudden gratitude. "I simply had no desire to see you get hurt."

She smiled. "And that makes you a true young gentleman."

I looked into her eyes, startled. "A gentleman? Mademoiselle, I would not dare presume such an illustrious title. I have no place in any world beyond the one I have made for myself."

"And what world might that be?" inquired a voice from behind me. I froze.

_On the contrary, my curiosity has been aroused, and I am now more determined than previously to know who you are and where you are from._

"We've already had this conversation," I said testily. "Suffice to say that I had two paths that I could follow, and I chose the one that seemed best, and most pleasing to God."

"Well, that's good," Cosette said encouragingly. "Are you done with your breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you," I said, and she took the tray out to the kitchen, leaving me alone with her father.

"You are a very mysterious child, Luc."

"Yup." I blinked. Where had _that_ come from? _Yup_? I'd heard _gamin_s say it before – maybe I had unconsciously picked up their slang. Good heavens forbid it.

"Is that even your real name?" Valjean continued, coming around to stand in front of me. "Luc?"

"Yuuuuup." Agh. Long, drawn-out, juvenile drawling. AND I'd popped the "p" sound at the end. This was intolerable. I was turning into one of THEM! GAH! I made a mental note not to say it again, and returned my attention to Valjean.

"Why were those men chasing you?" he asked. I stared at him. His suspicious, questioning gaze answered my intent one. I noted absently that his eyes were a fascinating blue-green shade that shifted as he moved in and out of the light.

_I understand your need to be suspicious, Valjean, but __really__! The last time __I__ looked, the police weren't employing _gamins_ in the service of the law. Goodness, the very thought makes me shudder. And anyway, I was the only person who knew you were 24601. You have absolutely no reason to be acting crazy and paranoid…but if anyone else is out to get you, please, I'd like to know about it. I still get first dibs, y'know. Even if I AM supposed to be dead._

"I told your daughter why," I said amiably. "They saw me take out my money in public – admittedly quite stupid of me – and they chased me down later and tried to steal it from me."

"That seems like too convenient a reason," he muttered under his breath. Even though his lips hadn't moved, I still heard him.

"Hey, if this was some sort of grand conspiracy against you – planned by me, or anyone else for that matter – I'd hardly have allowed them to STAB me, would I? And I certainly wouldn't have tried to escape so soon. I would have stuck around until I could get what I wanted, then I'd leave when I was better."

"On the other hand, you could just be saying that to throw me off the track."

I continued to stare at him, and he at me, as I responded coolly, "If I was trying to throw you off the track, I wouldn't have told you that I wasn't a _gamin_, you idiot. It's much easier and far less risk to pretend to be a street rat than to have your target wondering who you _really_ are and what you're up to – like you're doing now, I might point out." I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest, fixing him with an even more intense stare. "As far as those men are concerned, I really _don't_ know why they were after me. The money is only my best and most reasonable assumption."

Valjean continued to stare at me, but not with suspicion anymore. Now his gaze was confused, and…sad?

"Hey, what's wrong? Quit looking at me like that! What is it?"

"Déjà vu," he responded quietly, almost vaguely. I blinked.

"What, do I _remind_ you of someone?" _Please say no, please say __no__…_

"Yes, as a matter of fact you do. Someone…someone I knew very well." He abruptly stood up, and I noted with irritation that he was a good deal taller than me. Curse my seven-year-old body's pathetic height! I wanted to tower over everybody else again, intimidate them! That had been the high point of my whole JOB! Seeing criminals cower in fear!

"Someone I knew better than anyone else…though he would have had it otherwise."

Huh?

"Hey, wait, come back!" I called as he started to leave the room, then bit my tongue as he turned back with a querying expression on his face. What the heck had I done that for? "Er, uh, I…can I go outside?"

He stared at me suspiciously (not for the first time). "Are you going to try and run away again?"

I stared back at him indignantly. "You may think me a foolish child, but only an out-and-out moron would try to escape from anywhere with a sprained ankle. That, or a truly desperate man."

_And I'm not quite that desperate. Yet. Any more lullabies, though, and I may cross that line. Really. Not even my __mother__ sang me lullabies._

"Very well," he said, his expression relaxing. "Cosette! Ask Tia to bring out the wheelchair!"

Wheel – HEY! WAIT A MINUTE!

* * *

**A3:** Well, that was fun to write. I hope it was fun to read, too. Oh! That reminds me. Due to Enjolras's unfortunate absence in the last chapter, I've brought him back to the ending authoressial notes -  
**  
Enjolras:** By FORCE.  
**  
A3:** Ahem, well, yes. Maybe. Anyway, in apology for the lack of humorous ending authoressial notes and resultant absence of Enjolras, he'd like to read you this note to make up for it. (Hands Enjy a piece of paper)

**Enjolras:** (Looks down and reads aloud) "Hello, Enjolras here. Please review. Oh, and all reviewers get free complimentary ice cream. Just take a cone from the portable freezer after you review." ...Eh? "By the way, does anyone want to see other characters besides me in these end notes or helping with the disclaimer? I would love some company." I would NOT!!

**A3:** Yes, you would. Now shut up. We have to go do other stuff now.

**Enjolras:** WE?! I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU, WOMAN!!

**A3:** (Kicks him) I'm a _teenager_.

**Enjolras:** (Sulky) Whatever. I hate you.

**A3:** Meanie. (Pushes him) Now go serve ice cream to the nice reviewing readers.

**Enjolras:** Fine! BE that way! Nobody loves me! I'm a lonely hero! Viva la France!

(Pause)  
**  
A3:** Viva la ice cream! Viva la fanfiction! Viva la reviews!  
**  
Enjolras:** SHUT UP! I don't even think you're SPELLING that correctly!

**A3:** (Looks hurt) I can't help it, I don't speak French. Or write it. Now, GO! This is turning out to be a ridiculously long ending authoressial note! AHH!

(Screen goes black)


	6. A Walk and Criminals

**Authoressial Note of Importance:** Ahh! I'm sooooorrryyyy! I didn't mean for the chapter update to take this long! But I just started back in school, you see, and it's eating up quite a chunk of my time, along with other extracurricular activities...so updates may no longer be on a close-to-daily basis anymore. Again, I'm sorry! Please forgive me! But real life must come before fanfiction! An irritating, but true, axiom. So, please don't be angry. I can't help it.  
**  
Disclaimer:** Tom, Moe, Larry, Jeremy, and the plot are mine. _Les Miserables_ and everything else are not.

* * *

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

After a little over a week of being forced to move about either in a wheelchair, or being carried by Valjean – a very traumatizing incident (for me, anyway) which shall be detailed shortly, the day finally came when I was pronounced healed. I personally thought that my secret wanderings about the house at night had helped. My side was still a little sore, but my head and my ankle were perfectly fine.

As for the "being carried" bit, well, it took place about two days before the doctor visited and pronounced me well. You see, I was lying on the couch when I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was very thirsty. However, Cosette was helping Nicolettia (a.k.a. Tia), the housemaid, in the garden, and Valjean was doing something in his room. I knew this because I made a point of always keeping tabs on the convict's whereabouts. Anyway, since everyone was busy and I didn't want to bother them, I got up and made my way out of the living room towards the kitchen, limping only slightly. Unfortunately, my ankle decided to protest for some reason, and I ended up leaning against the wall for a moment to relax. At the same time, I heard someone coming down the stairs behind me. The footsteps stopped abruptly, then sped up.

Argh. I had been spotted.

"Luc, what are you doing?" Valjean demanded. I closed my eyes briefly, forcing myself to calm down before I turned and looked at him.

"I'm thirsty and need a drink, so I'm going to the kitchen to get one." Having stated my purpose, I turned back around and continued to move forward. After only a few steps, however, I stumbled and fell, crashing into the wall.

"Enough." The single word carried a surprising amount of force, and before I could do anything about it, I had been picked bodily up in Valjean's arms and he was carrying me back to the couch.

"H-hey! Wait a minute! _Put me down_!"

"No. Good heavens, child, you could have just called to someone!"

"I didn't want to bother anyone," I muttered as he placed me back on the couch. "Anyway, I _can_ walk. I'm not helpless."

"And that's why you're stumbling into the walls, is it?"

"That's because I'm not used to walking again yet! But I will be!"

He sighed and stood up straight. Not for the first time, I noted how tall he was and was consequently disgusted with the pathetic height of my own 7-year-old body.

"You stay here. _I'll_ go get you a glass of water."

I glared after him as he left, and I could have sworn I heard him murmur something that sounded like "stubborn child," but I couldn't be certain.

Two days later, the doctor pronounced me healed (as I've already mentioned). Later that afternoon, Valjean and Cosette were preparing to go on their daily walk when I entered the foyer and stared up at the convict.

"May I come with you?" I asked. Before Valjean could say anything, Cosette turned to me with one of her sweetest smiles. I distrusted sweet smiles on most people, but I somehow suspected that hers were quite genuine. And that was even MORE cause for me to distrust them.

"Of course you can! In fact, I was just about to come fetch you. A little sunlight would be just the thing for your pale skin. Come along, then!"

Valjean smiled, apparently infected by Cosette's cheerful manner. I snorted. Silly grins of that sort had never seen the light of day on my face, and they weren't about to start doing so.

I glanced up at her and quickly looked away again. _Not if I can help it_.

* * *

**.-.****3****rd****-Person POV****.-.**

Elsewhere in the city, four men were walking up a street in single file, weaving through the traffic with practiced ease. Leading them was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a permanently murderous expression stamped on his features and the beaten ears of an experienced boxer. He wore ill-fitting, filthy clothing underneath a long, dark overcoat that could (and did) contain several weapons in both its inner and outer pockets, not to mention effectively hiding any other weapons that he might have had concealed upon his body.

His name was Moe. Obviously that wasn't his _full_ name, but then again, he didn't remember what his full name was. He didn't care. He wouldn't have cared if he was the long-lost prince of Persia. He liked what he did and didn't want to stop doing it. Moe was the leader of The Gang – at least, that was what they called themselves. The Gang was a ragtag group of criminals that worked for anyone who paid well. No job was too big or too risky for them. Crime was their business, and they enjoyed it.

Well, most of them did, anyway.

The second man in line was of smallish stature, but he made up for his size by the fact that his entire body was one solid mass of lean, corded muscle. His hair was surprisingly short for the time period, and his nose had obviously been recently broken and not properly tended to afterwards. He occasionally reached up to rub at it tenderly, wincing when his fingers touched it.

He was called Larry. He wasn't particularly bright, and the only reason he was in The Gang was because he practically worshiped Moe. He would do anything Moe told him to do, and he was especially good when things came to employing mindless violence – he would throw himself into any situation without any semblance of regard for his own personal safety.

Following Larry was a tall young man – not quite as tall as Moe, but decidedly more handsome. In fact, he might even be a bit on the pretty side, with his delicate features and high cheekbones. His hair was longer than the other men's, and he was dressed fashionably as well, with gloves and a top hat and everything else that was "in style" at the time. He also carried a glossy wooden walking stick, which rather than walk with he carried in one hand and was prone to clutch convulsively. His name was Tom – well, that was his nickname. He preferred to go by Thomas, but almost nobody called him that. Once upon a time, Thomas had been a respectable gentleman – in the higher circles, he was still considered as one – but then he had fallen upon hard times, and had turned to a secret side life of crime in order to assist him with his, ahem, _problems_. Only the other members of The Gang knew about it, and Tom preferred to keep it that way – though he wasn't exactly keeping a low profile. On another note, as a man new to the ways of a life of crime, he was surprisingly accident-prone and couldn't quite figure out why.

Last in the line was a 19-year-old boy – or, as he preferred to be called, _young man_ – with jet-black hair and pale green eyes. Jeremy (as he was called) had run away from an abusive home life at an early age and lived with other _gamin_s on the streets until he was old enough to get an actual career, and he chose that of a criminal. He had grown attached to Thomas, and tried to keep him out of trouble. In addition to being the youngest, he was the smartest and most sensible of the members of The Gang, and often took time to explain to them things that they didn't understand. While his good looks attracted the attention of young women, he refused to pay any attention to them, leaving them out of both his career and his life.

Now he spoke up from the back of the line. " 'Ey, blokes, I don' think this is the right street, aye?"

" 'Course it is," Moe grunted.

" 'Course it is," Larry echoed. Tom emitted a despairing sigh.

"Come now, men, let's admit it. It was dark, we were chasing the boy without paying heed to where we ran. None of you have any _idea_ where we were that night. In fact, does anyone have any idea where we are right _now_?"

"Sure, we're right here," Moe said in the same grunt, earning the back of his head a black look from Tom.

"We're on Faust Street, I think," Jeremy said. "Though I'm 'fraid that's all I can give ya. I wasn't payin' attention th'other night, either."

"Shut up!" Moe barked. "I know where we're goin'. Jus' shut up an' follow me!"

The Gang fell into a sullen silence as they traipsed up the street. Jeremy's sharp gaze flitted about as he watched everyone and everything with a surprising amount of interest, like someone who was visiting a new city. Thomas's cane-clutching grew more frantic and convulsive. Moe's expression grew more murderous. Larry…Larry continued to stare at the ground and make a concerted effort to put his feet exactly where Moe had stepped.

And life continued on.

* * *

**A3:** Hi, sorry, but it'll be just me tonight. No Enjolras; he's stuck in bed with a headcold.

**Enjolras:** (Angry shout from the distance) Which YOU gave me!!

**A3:** I CAN'T HELP THAT THERE WERE GERM-INFESTED PEOPLE AT CAMP! Ahem. Anyway, please drop a review to tell me what you think...you know, when I started this story I thought I would never get this far, and look! Here I am! ...Darn. I probably just jinxed it. Now I'll get an awful case of writer's block and this story won't be updated for a month. NOOOO!

**Enjolras:** (Comes dragging in with a blanket wrapped around himself) No, you can'd ged wrider's blog, becud - AGH! CURD DIS STUFFY NODE! (Blows nose on tissues) Ahem. As I was saying, you can't get writer's block because your muses have forbidden you to work on any other fanfictions until you finish the one you're working on right now, so...hurry up and get it done.

**A3:** (Pouts) But that would spoil the suspense...anyway, shoo, off with you. Back to bed. I don't want you infecting the readers.

**Enjolras:** (Glare) I'm only obeying you because I have to get better in order to fight for the people of France. (Trails off back to bed) Blag...da color of despaird...ugh...

**A3:** Aww, isn't he cute. I'm leaving now. Buh-bye!


	7. The Thrill of the Chase

**IMPORTANT Authoressial Note: **AHHH! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I know it's been a long time since the last update and I am REALLY SORRY!! So, please please PLEASE don't hate me!! I really am sorry! I didn't mean for it to be such a long wait!! Please forgive me!

On another note, this chapter was KILLER to write and took a lot out of me for some reason. So you at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I worked hard on getting it right. At least, I hope it's right. I think it's just a SMIDGEN too angsty in places, but...eh. I'll live. (Shrug)

So, HERE IT IS!! The chapter you've all been waiting for. Again...please don't hate me. The next chapter will be up faster than this one, I promise!! :'(  
**  
Disclaimer:** I own nothing except the plot. So there. :P

* * *

Javert had made a discovery – the discovery of the _true_ meaning behind the term "walk," at least when it was applied to the ones that Valjean and Cosette went on. Being thoroughly disgusted with them, he had made some excuse that allowed him to go off a short distance while he composed what he would say to Tia, the maid, when they returned home. When M. and Mlle. Fauchelevent were gone for long periods of time in the afternoon, she would always tell him, "Luc, they'll be back soon. After all, Mademoiselle doesn't get out of the house very often, and Monsieur does so love their walks together."

Now Javert crouched by a flower patch, unknowingly pulling the petals off of the delicate plants as he ranted in his mind: _"Walks? WALKS?! I ASKED 'monsieur' what they do all afternoon! THEY SIT ON A BLOODY BENCH TOGETHER!! How INCREDIBLY boring can that BE? I bet they hold hands and SMILE at people, and probably give money to passing beggars and – and – _aaargh!"

This last was said aloud, and earned him some strange looks from passersby. He didn't care. Standing up, he ran a hand through his hair and glared around at his surroundings.

This was not a street with which he was familiar – a walk somewhere in the Luxembourg, a pleasant place but nowhere that he as a police officer would have spent much time. Valjean and Cosette came here to sit together on a bench at the furthest end of the walk, where they spent their time watching the passersby, mostly in complete silence. While Javert had no objections to the silence, he had not the patience to simply _sit_ – he much preferred to stand. And once he was standing, his 7-year-old body and his own police instinct demanded that he move about, as he could see much more and be more ready if something unexpected was to happen.

He stood in thought for a time, biting his lower lip and staring off into space, when suddenly a hand descended upon his shoulder. Javert did not jump, however, even though he was startled. He had trained himself over the years to take all things as they came, unexpected or not. It was much easier to create a plan when you were calm.

Now he looked up into the face of a police officer – a familiar face. However, the dark eyes that stared into his contained no trace of recognition. What they _did_ show was weariness, worry, and more than a trace of sadness.

"Little boy," said the officer – one Sergeant Fauve Neville by name, Javert recalled – "are you lost?"

Javert unconsciously straightened up (if such a thing was possible – even as a small boy, he had kept his immaculate posture) and looked directly into the man's eyes. "No, sergeant, I am not lost. Do I _look_ lost?"

He hardly even realized that he was speaking and acting the same way he would to any man under his command, entirely forgetting that he was in the form of a 7-year-old boy and nobody would recognize him for who he truly was. As for Sergeant Neville, he smiled halfheartedly and sighed.

"No; no, you don't…I was just checking. That's my duty, you know." He sighed again and closed his eyes briefly. "Got to do my duty, that's what _he_ would have done. The law doesn't stop existing just because one man kicks the bucket. Though some of them at the apartment, they swore he _was_ the law, that one."

Javert listened to his mutterings with interest, though he didn't show it. Finally, the police officer shook himself out of his reverie and straightened up.

"Well, I've got to go make my rounds…you behave yourself now." He clapped a hand on Javert's shoulder, nearly knocking the boy over, and then moved slowly away, an unmistakable air of total dejection surrounding his person. Javert stared after him, surprised that Neville – of all people! – was so depressed. Over _him_, too – for as far as he knew, he was the only police officer that had recently "kicked the bucket," as Neville had so eloquently put it. He frowned, watching the police officer as he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. He had always thought, for some reason, that the men under his command disliked him. But come to think of it, even when he had driven them to exhaustion, they never complained, and when he himself worked harder and later than anyone else, there was always someone who had an excuse to be at the headquarters as well, working on a case or doing some kind of mundane chore usually reserved for new cadets, like organizing the filing cabinets. And Javert realized with a start that this could not have been coincidence; not only was it never the same person twice (or if it was, it happened very rarely), but whoever it was had always had time to poke their head in and see if he needed anything, bringing him tea or coffee, building up the fire, and other small things that he had simply never noticed before.

He felt guilty, but only for a moment. The next instant, his attention was seized by a scream that came from further down the street, followed by a cry of "Help! Thief!"

A normal boy would have run after Sergeant Neville to get help. Javert was not a normal boy by any means, and he knew that by the time he'd caught up to Neville, the thief would have escaped. In fact, Neville never crossed his thoughts except for the millisecond it took his experienced police inspector's mind to realize that fact. Whirling around, he looked down the street in the direction of Valjean and Cosette's bench and saw a young woman being set upon by a tall, unkempt criminal type who was obviously trying to seize her purse. In the next instant, he succeeded and began to run up the street towards Javert.

All his police instincts kicked into gear. Had he been somewhat bigger and taller, he would have waited until the man passed near him, then he would have tossed out his nightstick and tripped him. As it was, he didn't have a nightstick and he wasn't as big and tall as he would have liked to be. So, he went with a different approach.

If Javert had been a grown man, the thief would have veered out of his way, probably into a side alley or street. However, he had no fear of a small boy and kept going straight for Javert as if he planned to trample him. The former inspector took advantage of this, and as the thief approached, Javert suddenly ran at him and hurled himself bodily at the man's form. The two of them collided and fell to the ground. The thief instantly tried to get up and run away, but Javert had expected this and was sitting on top of him in the blink of an eye, pressing the man's face into the ground with one hand while the other was employed in keeping one of the man's arms pinned behind his back.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you," Javert said calmly. Once again, he had slipped unconsciously into his normal behavior as chief inspector. "I can have a man here quicker than the time it takes you to blink, and then I'm sure you'll have a perfectly good explanation as to why you stole that young lady's purse." He glanced at where the purse had fallen when the two of them had collided; it was lying nearby on the street, thankfully still closed.

"No, please," the man cried, "I needed it for my wife! She's ill, and we can't -"

"I _might_ be more inclined to believe you if you were wearing a wedding ring," Javert informed him sharply. "As it is, I can see that you're not, nor is there any mark on your finger indicating that you once wore one but took it off in order to perform your nefarious criminal deeds. Come up with a more plausible story next time – if there _is_ a next time. And if there is, you'd better pray to the Lord Almighty that I'm not the man who catches you – because if I am, you'll be sent back to the galleys for _life_." Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, the thrill of the chase and the capture filling him with elation, but despite this his voice remained as cold and hard as ice and more merciless than a blizzard.

"B-back? I – no, please!" The man twisted violently in a sudden attempt at escape, but Javert simply yanked his arm up his back and the thief let out a scream, then lay silent.

In the next instant, a shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the young lady standing beside him. She smiled and bent down.

"Thank you," she told him, and lightly kissed his cheek before standing up and walking away with her purse. He stared after her, utterly confused. Since when had a kiss become the accompaniment for a simple verbal statement of gratitude?

Then he heard another female voice calling from behind him – "Luc! Luc, are you alright?" – and suddenly there was a hand on his head and Valjean was saying,

"Come away now, Luc. The police are here, he's going to be arrested."

Javert's head snapped up. The words _Don't touch me, 24601!_ were on the tip of his tongue, but then Cosette took his hand, he glanced at her, and everything fell apart. He suddenly remembered where he was, who was talking to him, what had happened to him, and to his utter and total shock, he discovered that he felt like crying. But not because the experience had been traumatizing at all – oh, _no_. It was exactly the opposite. For just that brief period of time, he had been Chief Inspector Javert, catching criminals and bringing them to justice, doing what he knew and loved best. He hadn't realized how much he had _missed_ that –

Valjean was talking to him. Shoving his thoughts aside, Javert focused on the convict.

"…reckless, careless act. You could have been seriously hurt. What if he had been armed? On top of that, you…"

Javert latched onto one word: _armed_. And suddenly he remembered a gun…a knife…Jean Valjean in an alleyway, setting him free, letting him live when Javert would have died before he'd let an enemy of his own escape…

_You annoy me. Kill me, rather._

He stumbled over a rock in the street and fell to the ground, bashing his knee painfully on the stones. He heard Cosette's alarmed cry and Valjean's concerned inquiries as if from far, far away, so far that he could barely understand what they were saying, not that he was listening anyway. He was busy remembering, remembering _why_ he had done what he had done, why he had leapt from the bridge – he was remembering who he was and his past and why he had made all the choices he had made. He had taken up the path of enforcing justice because the only other path open to him at the time had been the path of defying justice, the path of a criminal. That was the sole reason he was who he was. Chief Inspector Javert, the man who did his job with a fierce, almost mad passion that caused him to block out everything else in his life, including other people – but no. No, he realized, with a shudder of horror. Perhaps originally, he had joined the police force and helped uphold the law because it was the path he had chosen in his life, and he would not stray from it – but at some point, he had begun to _enjoy_ the pursuit and capture of criminals, the satisfaction he felt in bringing them to justice and protecting the city from any more of their misdeeds. And then at some point, Valjean had appeared again, and he had become single-mindedly obsessed with tracking down this "disturber of the peace," but now he realized that it had not been in the pursuit of justice that he hunted Valjean. No; it had been more a case of personal revenge. He had forgotten the excitement, almost the _fun_ that he took in upholding the law. That was part of the reason that he had volunteered to infiltrate the barricade – perhaps helping crush a disturbance of the peace would bring that part of him, the part that he had lost during his long years chasing Valjean, back. But no; from that incident in the alley onward, everything had spiraled downward until he had been willing to end it all just to _stop it from getting worse._ And then he had awoken to find himself in the body of a child, been taken in by his arch-enemy and his arch-enemy's daughter, and things had been looking surprisingly up.

Until today.

Valjean stared down at Luc in surprise. The boy was on his hands and knees, shaking violently and mumbling under his breath, and though Valjean suspected that Luc didn't know it, tears were running down his face.

"What's wrong, Father?" Cosette asked, truly concerned. "Is he injured?"

"No…I think this is beyond an injury," Valjean said slowly, shaking his head. "Somewhere, deep inside of him, there is a bad wound…an emotional wound…beyond the understanding of either of us. But…but maybe, if we try, we can help to heal it."

He knelt down and placed a hand on Luc's shoulder. The boy gave no response.

"Let's go home, Luc," he said firmly. The boy hung his head.

"I don't – have – a – home," he responded brokenly. Then, in a firmer voice, "I don't deserve a home. I'm weak and pathetic. I can't –" He looked up at Valjean. "If you had any idea what I was, or who I was -" He glanced at Cosette. "You would _both_ hate me. Just leave me to die, as I originally intended."

SMACK.

Valjean did not put the full power of his arm behind the blow, as that would have knocked the boy over, and probably _out_ as well, but it was a painful blow and (he hoped) brought the boy back from the brink of the darkness on which he was walking.

"Luc, you are grounded for the next week."

Javert stared at him in disbelief. "I – _what_?"

"You will not leave the gardens surrounding the house. If you do, a more severe punishment will follow, most likely in the form of a spanking. Do you understand?"

Javert was speechless.

"Excellent. Now, come along, and maybe this will teach you not to do reckless things like try to stop potentially armed thieves when we have police to do that very thing."

"_What_?! But he wasn't armed! If he was armed, he would have used his weapon on that woman! Besides -"

"No buts or besides. You're grounded and that's the end of it."

Javert had no idea how to cope with this, so he took Cosette's proffered hand and walked along in silence. He had just been grounded by a convict.

This was quite possibly the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

Then he looked down at himself, and a wry smirk twisted his lips. No; never mind. It was the _second_ strangest thing.

* * *

**A3:** Finito of Chapter 7. Reviews would be much appreciated, since I'd like to know what you all think, but once again, I feel it necessary to point out - PLEASE don't leave ANGRY reviews! Reviews written in anger are...well, _angry_. And I don't like them.

**Enjolras:** I don't see why you're so worried about it. Surely they have better things to do and say than flame you about updating so late. After all, you DID explain in the last chapter that you have Real Life to attend to, now.

**A3:** Yes, that's true, but...I'm still worried. Oh well. I'll use you as a shield. (Ducks behind Enjy) Please direct any angry things you have to say at him.

**Enjolras:** I - you - WHAT?!

**A3:** Or don't say anything angry at all. That'll make us both happy.

**Enjolras:** GET AWAY FROM ME!!

**A3:** ...Yeah. Well, then, ciao for now! Say goodbye, Enjolras.

**Enjolras:** _Goodbye._ (Muttermutter) Annoying child with no sense of propriety...giving me up as a victim...


	8. Javert Grows Up! A Bit

**PROBABLY Important Authoressial Note:** Hola mi amigos! Again, I would like to apologize for the lateness of the chapter...I didn't keep my promise, did I? (Tears are shed) But, to make up for that, I would like to state that I was _going_ to make this chapter into two short chapters, but out of guilt I squished it together into one longer chapter so as to make up for its late-ness. :)

I've also been suffering from a spot of writer's block. Another reason this chapter is so late is because my mom's dog got hit by a car!! Gah! His tail and pelvis are both broken, and his belly WAS all scratched up from road rash, but it's better now (thank you, modern medicine). He'll walk and wag again, but recovery will take a while, so please send him your get-well wishes!

**Disclaimer:** YES! I DO own the members of The Gang! And their leader! And...and...and that's about it. Darn. Oh well.

* * *

"I'm telling you, that was the child we're looking for!" Thomas said in an exasperated tone of voice. "Why won't any of you believe me?!"

"It's not tha' we don' believe ya," said Jeremy, biting down on the apple he was eating. "There was a big hulkin' gen'leman wi' 'im. Same one that beat us all up tha' night, if I'm no' mistaken. An' we don' want any more o' us getting' a broken nose, do we?"

"Well, no, I suppose not," Tom sighed reluctantly, earning himself a glare from Larry, "but _still_! The boss – master – whoever that person in charge is will be upset if we don't get the boy, and _soon_, too."

" 'E never got the final dose o' the powder," Moe spoke up suddenly. The other three members of The Gang turned to stare at him with varying expressions on their faces; Larry's expression was of complete adoration, Jeremy's was of detached interest, and Tom's was of mixed confusion and horror.

"What's going to happen if he doesn't get another dose of the powder?!" the dandy yelled.

"Don' sound so fran'ic, mate," Jeremy said amusedly, throwing his finished apple core into the gutter nearby. "Moe, answer 'is question."

Moe shot a glare at the insubordinate teen before answering, "Well, technic'lly a number a' things could 'appen, but th' main thing is tha' e'll get…bigger."

"EHHH?! How MUCH bigger?!"

"THOMAS! Calm yerself!" Jeremy barked. "Moe?"

"Er…well…that's all the boss tol' me. 'E needs a' least two doses, or 'e'll star' to grow again…I dunno how much, though. Like I said, 'e din' tell me."

"We're speaking of _bigger_ as in _older_, correct?"

"Yes, Tom, ya idiot. Shut up," Jeremy sighed.

"Hey! I just want to clarify things!! Some of us aren't smart-aleck wonder boys like you!"

"_Smart-aleck wonder boy_, is it? Bring it on, ya froofy fop. Didja forget I'm the only thing keepin' you outta more trouble than you c'n 'andle?"

"ENOUGH!!"

Moe's thunderous roar washed over The Gang, shocking the majority of them – Larry and Tom – into silence. Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and smirked in a self-satisfied way that made Moe want to wipe it off with a good, hard punch to his beautiful face. Unfortunately, he needed Jeremy and couldn't afford to leave him lying about in the street while he and the rest of The Gang went off to do other things – despite the fact that they had done exactly such a thing to Tom, though the circumstances had been slightly different (a chloroformed handkerchief as opposed to a punch in the face).

On the other hand, he didn't really _need_ Tom.

"Enough," he repeated again, this time in a quieter tone of voice, which just made the others (Jeremy excepted) even more frightened. Moe speaking quietly was, in most cases, far worse than Moe speaking loudly. "This is ridiculous. Tom!"

"Who, me?"

"No, the _other_ foppish dandy we 'ave 'angin' around 'ere. YES, YOU! Go find a group of street brats, give 'em some money an' tell 'em to keep an eye out for the old man an' his daughter an' the boy. If they find 'em, give 'em s'more money."

"B-b-but…why _meeee_?!" the young man wailed. "Make _Jeremy_ do it! They know him! They _like_ him!"

"Don' worry Tom, I'll come with you an' make sure they don' snatch yer wallet after ya pay 'em," Jeremy said cheerfully with a bright, encouraging grin.

"WHAT!!"

" 'E's jus' kiddin' with ya, idjit, they wouldn't really," Moe lied easily. "C'mon then, we've gotta keep lookin' anyway, jus' in case that wasn't 'im."

That being said, The Gang turned and left the Luxembourg walk the same way they had come, with Sergeant Fauve Neville watching them suspiciously from a nearby corner.

* * *

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

I snapped awake to the sound of a hysterical scream, followed by a loud crash as if something heavy had been dropped on the floor – which it had, I discovered as I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes only to see a breakfast tray, its contents, and Cosette all on the carpet, the latter staring at me in shock.

"Eh?" was the first sound out of my mouth. Cosette continued to stare at me, breathing rapidly as if in shock. I noticed that she was staring at _me_, so I decided to look down at myself and see if I had…I dunno, melted in my sleep or something.

"YAAAGIAHHHHHHHH! WHAT IN THE HEY?!"

Both of us heard the front door slam open, and then Valjean came flying into the living room, catching himself on the doorframe so as not to run us over.

"What is it?! What's the matter? I heard Cosette scream, and then – _good heavens!_"

_Oh, come on, convict, can't you come up with maybe a slightly __fiercer__ curse than that? After all, you __did__ spend 19 years in the galleys…_

"Don't look at me," I snapped as his gaze fixed on my form. "I'm indecent."

Brilliant. A simply _brilliant_ comeback for someone who had just awoken to find that he had _grown_ in his sleep – rather than melt. Fortunately, I hadn't grown _all_ the way, but I was a sight older than seven now.

"Who are you?" Valjean demanded, and I resisted the sudden urge to roll my eyes. Of course he wouldn't recognize me.

"I'm Ja – Luc! Luc! I'm _Luc_! I'm just…a little bigger, that's all."

"Liar!" Valjean took a step forward. "Where is Luc? What have you done with him?!"

I clenched my teeth in frustration, but refused to let my fists do the same. "_I am Luc_, dangit. It's not _my_ fault I woke up like this!"

"Prove it! You should have a scar on your side from when you were stabbed!"

Suddenly I became aware of a sharp, stabbing pain in my side. I would have noticed it earlier, but I had been too preoccupied with the fact that I had somehow "grown up" a sizable bit overnight. Reaching down, I pulled up the side of my (now far too small) shirt.

"Lovely. Are you happy now? Not only do I have a scar, apparently it got distressed when I grew so much so fast and now it _hurts_!"

My voice faded away in the dead silence of the room. Cosette had gotten over her shock and was cleaning up the mess she'd made when she dropped the breakfast tray. Valjean was staring at me, his expression one of mixed shock and thoughtfulness. And me?

Well…I was kind of cold, since it was eight in the morning (judging by the clock over the fireplace) and my 7-year-old clothes didn't fit me anymore on my new body, which looked about the same as it had when I was…oh, 11 or 12. Maybe 13.

"I've aged five to seven years overnight? Fascinating," I said, stating the obvious. I suspected that I knew what, or who, was to blame – obviously, the thing or people that had turned me into a 7-year-old to begin with. Apparently, they hadn't finished the process, or maybe they had used some kind of drug that had to be consumed regularly or…whatever. It was all too confusing. I'd figure it out later.

"…really, Luc?"

"Huh?" I looked at Valjean. My gaze had drifted off to some distant corner of the room.

"Who are you really?" he repeated. His voice held no tones of hostility or anger. Just simple curiosity.

"I've told you before, you don't want to know," I informed him flatly. He nodded.

"Very well. Who was your father?"

"Even I'm not sure about that. He was sent to the galleys before I was born, so I never even saw him. Probably just a common thief, or something equally stupid. As far as I know, he was never released. He probably died there."

Something cleared in Valjean's face as I spoke – something like a shadow, maybe, or perhaps it was that hint of doubt that had been in his eyes ever since my arrival. At any rate, as I finished speaking, the last vestiges of it fled and it was replaced with something like a combination of relief and sorrow.

"Very well. Tell me then, did you ever know a man named…Inspector Javert?"

I paused before answering. "Inspector Javert? Nobody knew him; not very well, at least. I've heard it said that not even he knew himself. All he knew was the law...and that's all he wanted to know."

"Did you know that he is…dead?"

"Yes," but I volunteered no information as to _how_ I knew that.

"Ah." More silence. Cosette finished picking up the mess and took the tray into the kitchen. Valjean stared off into space and said nothing. I stared at his profile and waited. Finally, I sighed and stood up, taking care to wrap my blanket firmly about myself.

"I understand if you no longer wish for me to live with you and your daughter. After all, this situation, which not even I can understand, is rather awkward, so I'll just…er…find some clothes and leave."

He turned his head towards me, and I was surprised at the intensity of the gaze that locked mine.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going anywhere. As I recall, you're still grounded."

"I – but – whaa?"

"Yes, you're still grounded. Two more days to go, and you can't leave the vicinity of the gardens surrounding the house until then. And two days is plenty of time to get used to this strange new occurrence – isn't it, Cosette?"

"Yes, I believe so," said his daughter, stepping out of the kitchen. "Quite enough. I believe we shall get along perfectly well with each other."

"Uhh…but -"

"No, no buts. Or ifs, or ands." Valjean grinned at me. That grin was _very_ unnerving. "You just stay put on the couch, I'm going to go find some clothes for you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Hey, wait a minute!" But he was already gone. I turned a helpless gaze on Cosette.

"He…you can't…seriously, you people are beyond my understanding! Aren't either of you _curious_ to know why this happened to me?!"

"Well, on the one hand, we don't know, but neither do you, do you?" Cosette asked. I blinked.

"N-no…" It was true that I had a fairly good _idea_, but that wasn't the same as knowing for certain.

"There you go then! So, you just sit tight and Father will be back sooner or later. Don't worry, I'll keep you company."

"Ah…okay…" I murmured, sitting back down on the couch. She glanced at me and shook her head.

"This won't do. I'll go get you one of Father's shirts to wear for the meantime. You must be freezing."

"Yes, I am a little chilled," I admitted. She smiled.

"Well then, wait right there. I'll be back." She went running lightly up the stairs, leaving me to sink down into the sofa cushions and stare blankly at the fireplace.

_How on earth did I get myself into all of this…? I DEMAND TO KNOW!_

The fireplace failed to respond. I stuck my tongue out at it and quickly retracted it, surprised at my own childish behavior. As I waited for Cosette to return, an alarming thought flitted across my mind.

_What if I keep getting older?!_

"This is terrible," I announced to the room in general. "I must find whoever did this to me before another growth spurt occurs."

Unless they found me first…but the chances of such a thing happening were highly unlikely. After all, they'd probably forgotten about my very existence.

* * *

**A3:** DUN DUN DUN! Wanna bet, boy-o? Er...(cough) Yeah, anyway, so I made Javert grow up a bit. He's about 10 or 11 now. I did this because I thought that seven was just a SMIDGE too young. Yup. (Nods)

**Enjolras:** (Kicks her lightly in the leg) Don't forget about what you told me earlier.

**A3:** Awww...do I have to?

**Enjolras:** YES.

**A3:** (Sigh) FINE. Hear ye hear ye, in this ending authoressial note I shall NOT - I repeat, I SHALL NOT - beg, plead, request, demand, or otherwise ask for REVIEWS, in the hope that people shall not have to be asked and review of their own...free...will...(sob)

**Enjolras:** And no playing the pity card, either.

**A3:** NOOO! You said nothing about the pity card!  
**  
Enjolras:** Well, now I have.

**A3:** Hmph. Fine. This chapter is over. Goodbye. (Stalks off)

**Enjolras:** THEY WON'T LEAVE REVIEWS IF YOU ACT LIKE A SPOILT BRAT! (Sheepish grin) Sorry, everyone...goodbye now...


	9. Javert Goes to School

**IMPORTANT AUTHORESSIAL NOTE: **I would like to extend my most profuse apologies to you all for the ridiculously long delay. A combination of writer's block and a busy life is not a good thing! (Sweatdrop) So so sorry. This chapter is a little short but I'm working on more! Again, I'm terribly sorry for the delay! Please don't hate me!

**DISCLAIMER:** I the Authoress do hereby declare that I own nothing but the plot and my OCs. Everything else is Hugo's. (Pout) Life is so unfair.

* * *

Three days later (make it a Monday), people on the streets stopped and stared with mixed emotions of surprise, shock, and curiosity as a small party made its way towards its destination. The party was made up of a beautiful young woman – about 16 or 17 years of age – fidgeting nervously with a parasol in her hands, and an older man in his mid-40s, forcefully dragging a 10-year-old boy along behind him. The boy was shouting at the top of his lungs, the man answering his outbursts in a calm, level tone of voice, while the girl blushed furiously and tried not to meet anyone's gaze while constantly apologizing in a quiet, nervous manner.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry…he doesn't get out much you see, so he's not used to this…er…sorry! I apologize! So sorry!"

"LET ME GO, OLD MAN! I HATE YOU!"

"Luc, you are now in my care and I am not going to let you go through life without getting a proper education – growth spurt or _no_ growth spurt. Now will you please stop embarrassing yourself and walk along in a calm, dignified fashion like a normal human being and not some street-bred hooligan?"

"NO! I'LL FIGHT YOU TO THE END!! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO TO SCHOOL!!"

"You're embarrassing your sister."

"SHE'S NOT MY SISTER!! RELEASE ME, YOU – YOU ROTTEN SCUM OF THE EARTH!!"

"No matter how much you insult me, it will change nothing. I've already enrolled you, and you are going to attend school."

"I'm sorry, please don't mind him…he's like this sometimes…"

"I HOPE YOU KEEL OVER AND DIE! DIE! DO YOU HEAR ME, FAUCHELEVENT?!"

"The entire street can hear you. We're almost there – do you _want_ to make a bad impression?"

"YES!! WHY AREN'T YOU REACTING TO THIS? LET ME GOOOOO!!" The boy, who was of course Javert, tried to make a break for it, but it's very hard to run away when you're being pulled along behind someone of considerably greater strength than yourself by your shirt collar. "GYAAHHH! MLLE. FAUCHELEVENT, TELL YOUR FATHER TO LET ME GO!"

Valjean gave Javert's collar a sharp jerk. "Don't yell at Cosette. It will not be tolerated."

"I – DON'T – CARE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL!" Javert squirmed around and tried to bite Valjean's arm, to no avail. He ended up tripping on the sidewalk and falling down. Refusing Cosette's assistance, he got to his feet by himself, angrily rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand (yes, he, the former terror of all criminals in his assigned district, had managed to fall on his face). Suddenly he stopped, frozen, staring at the sight before him.

Somehow, Valjean had managed to drag him past the school gates and up to the entrance without him noticing (he had been preoccupied with trying to get away). And now, as he looked wide-eyed at the group of children and their parents that were entering the school, he noticed something horrifying.

A large percent of the students were female. And a large percent of the females were looking at _him_. With something in their eyes that he couldn't give a name to, but felt was dangerous nonetheless.

"No. _Heck_ no. I'm leaving." He turned and made as if to flee, but Valjean caught him – this time by the hair. "OWOWOWOWOW! LEMME GO!!"

"This is Luc Fauchelevent, my foster son," the squirming Javert heard Valjean say cordially to someone that the inspector-turned-preteen-boy couldn't see. "He's a little rough around the edges, and somewhat wild, as you can see, but I'm sure he'll settle down once he gets used to the place."

"Foster son? WHEN THE HELL DID I BECOME YOUR FOSTER SON?! Gaa-a-ack!" This last was due to a sharp tug on his collar, which temporarily restricted his breathing.

"Luc, what have I told you about swearing?"

"NOTHING!"

"I'm going to have to start scrubbing your mouth out with soap. Anyway, here he is." Javert suddenly found himself unceremoniously deposited in a sprawling position in the middle of the foyer.

"We'll come pick you up at five, alright?" Cosette said, and then she and her father were gone. Javert stared at where they had been just moments ago, and was about to say something to the effect of "Wait a minute -" when he was seized by the hair and yanked to his feet.

"Hello, young master Fauchelevent! My name is Gaston Charlot, and I am the headmaster of this school. I expect you to be well-behaved, studious, and worthy of the school name. If you misbehave, you will be severely punished. And in the future -" here Javert was treated to a quick once-over – "please arrive at school in a presentable state. You're a mess. Go wash up."

"Eh…huh?"

"I won't repeat myself. Go!"

"But – I – you -" Javert stammered, unused to being ordered about by a higher authority. He jumped in surprise when someone suddenly took his arm.

"Hello! My name is Maria D'arcy. If you don't know where the washrooms are, I can show you!"

"Thank you," Javert said uncertainly, allowing her to lead him down the hall. "Er…I'm Luc Fauchelevent…"

"I know!" she responded cheerfully. "Hey, after school I'll show you around so you won't get hopelessly lost. Would you like that?"

Javert blinked. "Ah, well, I'd rather not get hopelessly lost, so I suppose, yes."

"Splendid!"

* * *

When Valjean and Cosette came to pick Javert up from school, they were met by an unexpectedly pleasant sight. Valjean had expected the boy to be stuck in detention, or worse – for instance, being expelled on his first day of school. Cosette had been afraid he would have beaten up the other boys – or _been_ beaten up.

Instead, what they found was a clean, untousled-looking (if slightly irritated) Javert, sitting on the front steps of the school and explaining something to the group of students that surrounded him. As the two of them grew closer, they were able to hear him say,

"And that's how I ended up living with the Fauchelevents, who take care of me, even though I don't need it. Look, here they come now."

The students – most of them female – instantly looked down the walkway to see who Javert was talking about. Exclamations erupted from their ranks.

"Oh, my goodness! She's so _pretty_! What's her name?"

"Monsieur, you're so strong! I bet you could lift a whole _cart_!"

Javert suddenly had a violent coughing fit on the steps.

"Luc, are you alright?" Cosette asked in concern, rushing forward to his side. Several male students stood by and watched with flushed faces and envious gazes as she ensured Javert's well-being.

"I'm fine, Cosette," he said finally. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, we can," she said fondly.

"Excuse me," said a young girl, coming up to Javert and taking his hand, "but where do you live?"

His eye twitched. "Why…do you want to know? Why am I even here? I've been surrounded by _girls_ all day…FAUCHELEVENT! THIS IS ALL YOUR – fault, owowOW! LET GO OF MY EAR!"

"No," Valjean said cheerfully. "You got through the first day of school without getting put in detention or being expelled. I'm not going to let you spoil it now by ranting about unimportant things."

"THIS IS IMPORTANT! I WAS SWARMED! BY GIRLS! And it's all YOUR FAULT!"

"I'm only letting go of your ear when you stop yelling."

"…I HATE YOU!"

Valjean smiled. "No, you don't. Now, come on. Tia's baking a cake to celebrate your first day of school."

"Really? Cake?" Javert said excitedly, and then cursed himself for his moment of 10-year-old weakness. "Whatever! Who wants cake anyway? I'M GIVING YOU A PIECE OF MY MIND RIGHT NOW!"

"That's obvious. You might even get two pieces of cake if you're good on the way home."

The silence was deafening, even with the noise of the street in the background. On the one hand, Javert had a lot to say, but…he figured it could wait until _after_ the cake.

* * *

**Triple A: **I'm very fond of this chapter. I apologize for the use of the swear word, but I felt that it added to the overall humor...and besides, he DID get scolded for it. Again, sorry for the incredibly long wait, but I'm working on another chapter and hope to have it up before too long. Oh yeah! I almost forgot. Enjolras has an announcement for you all! DON'T you, Enjy-boy?

**Enjolras:** (Twitch) DO NOT CALL ME THAT. And yes, I do. (Cough) At the request of the Authoress, I am to tell you all about a marvelous thing known as National Novel Writing Month. It's basically an endeavor to write a 50,000-word novel in ONE MONTH. It's a lot of fun, and this is the Authoress's effort at spreading the news and joy. Please look into it at: **nanowrimo dot org**. And don't forget to tell your friends!

**Triple A:** Good boy. Have a cookie.

**Enjolras:** ...I'm supposed to be leading a REVOLUTION, and here I am, ADVERTISING stuff for COOKIES. What am I, your PET?!

**Triple A:** NaNoWriMo is not "stuff." NaNoWriMo is a brilliant literary venture that is a ton of fun and should be participated in by everyone capable of using a keyboard. And yes, yes you are, though I didn't think of you that way until you suggested it.

**Enjolras:** Splendid. I just keep digging myself in deeper and deeper, don't I?

**Triple A:** I'm sorry to say it, but yes, it does indeed seem that way. Now then. You know what you have to say.

**Enjolras:** (Stubbornly) Woof woof. Bark yap. Snarl.

**Triple A: **Kindly imagine Enjolras wearing a dog costume, complete with a collar...now, to translate, he says "Please review or else I'll eat you." ...Enjy-boy, that's not nice. Bad dog.

**Enjolras:** WHY AM I WEARING THIS?! GET IT OFF!!


	10. Wherein Javert is Kidnapped

**HIGHLY IMPORTANT AUTHORESSIAL NOTE:** I want all of you readers to know that it may be a while before this story gets updated again. The reason is mainly because right now, it's National Novel Writing Month (I advertised this in the last chapter) and I'm participating, and since it is a fairly big thing to write a novel in a month, I'd rather work on that and not this. However, if you can all be patient and wait a while, this story will be fairly active again come December. Maybe before then!

Please don't hate me; simply understand that I like to write original stuff too, not just fanfiction. Thank you. And with that, on to the story!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing except the plot and my original characters! MUAHAHA! ...Actually, that really didn't warrant a maniacal laugh. Never mind.

* * *

**~.~****Javert's POV****~.~**

"Why am I here?"

"Because, Luc, it is our duty as Christians to help out those who are not as well-off as we are."

"They're a bunch of untrustworthy, dirty hooligans. Probably all of them have committed at least one crime in their lifetime. Instead of giving them money, we should call the police and have them all shipped off to the galleys."

"Luc, I won't tolerate that kind of talk. After all, if that did happen, what would their children do?"

"Live on the streets, obviously. _I_ did it."

"And had it not been for the fact that we assisted you on that night when you were being attacked, you would have died."

"I DIDN'T NEED YOUR HELP! I COULD HAVE HANDLED IT!"

Valjean smiled, a small, secret smile of amusement. I glared at him. I hated it when people laughed at me. Even if they didn't do it out loud. _Especially_ if they didn't do it out loud.

We stopped at the door of a dismal-looking apartment complex. Raising his hand, Valjean gave the door three sharp, staccato knocks, then stood back and waited. Cosette was beside him, holding his hand. I stood behind them and stared out at the street, looking bored – which I was. And I was not easily bored.

It was late in the evening, and a brilliant sunset was visible overhead. The traffic in the street was dwindling, but there were still a few people hurrying hither and thither in an effort to get who-knew-where. I glared at them, trying to determine whether or not any of them might be up to something suspicious.

Suddenly, a group of four men on the street stopped. They seemed to be looking in my direction. As I watched them, suddenly one of the men pointed at me, shouted, and they all started running towards me. I didn't hesitate; I took off down the street, plunging into what little traffic there was in an effort to hide from my pursuers.

I heard Valjean shouting my name from somewhere behind me, but I paid him no heed, ducking, dodging, weaving through people and carts and carriages, leaping over a stray cat and landing in a large puddle with a huge splash. I didn't pause to lament my sodden state, tearing onto the sidewalk and streaking off into a nearby alley – which, to my chagrin, turned out to be a dead end.

I whirled around, only to see my pursuers standing at the other end of the alley, all four of them.

"Gotcha now," said one of them – the biggest, meanest-looking one. I recognized him from the night they'd attacked me in front of Valjean's home – I recognized them all.

"I wouldn't bet on that," I said, edging towards the side of the wall. The youngest-looking one, a tall, slender lad with black hair, noticed my movements and moved with me, blocking my escape route.

"Don' try to go anywhere," he suggested, and grinned. I stared at him, my gaze cold and hard, and after a moment he looked away.

"C'mere." The big one stepped forward, something light and sparkly in his hand. "I jus' need you ta hold still for a minute." He raised his hand, and I darted to one side. "Ya li'l BRAT!" I dodged again, and he threw it – but not at any particular spot. Just up in the air over my head – where I couldn't possible avoid it.

I threw myself backwards in a desperate effort to save myself from whatever it would do to me, but it was too late. My head hit the ground sharply, everything went black for an instant, and when I recovered, I was staring up at the sky, my clothes far too big for me, and everything seeming smaller once again.

"So that's how you did it," I remarked idly as I climbed to my feet. "You were the ones that grabbed me off the bridge before I jumped, and turned me into this…form." I looked down at myself with distaste.

"Y' should be 'appier about it," the young one said. "We saved you from death! This's better 'n killin' yerself, innit?"

"That," I snapped at him, "is all a matter of opinion. After all, one does not decide to end their life idly, and had you bothered to _ask_ me if I would like to be transformed or not, I would have replied in the negative."

"Yeah, we know," he said. "Tha's why we got ya from be'ind, y'know? Or we woulda had to fight ya, and that would've been tough. After all, what did ya used to be? A policeman?"

"I _was_ known as Chief Inspector Javert, once upon a time," I growled. "Terror of such scum and vermin like yourselves. And _now_, I'm a child who can be silence with an offer of _cake_ – and it's ALL YOUR FAULT! Change me back, at ONCE!"

"Nah, I don' think our boss would like tha' very much," said the big one. I glared at him.

"Who do you work for?!"

"We dunno. All we know is 'e wanted us ta use the powder ta turn someone inter a kid and bring the bloke to 'im. Now we gotcha, we're takin' ya with us."

"Not so fast," said a new voice, and I jumped – partly in surprise, partly in horror.

"VA – I mean, Fauchelevent! How long -"

"Long enough, _Javert_," he said, and I almost cringed. He sounded quite upset. I was probably in for it this time. Grounded for a month. Or he'd just abandon me in disgust – though I hadn't really ever actually _lied_ to him. I simply hadn't told him who I was.

"Oh, bother this. Give me the antidote!" I snapped at the big man. He shook his head and wagged a finger at me.

"No no no, only good little boys 'oo ask politely get wha' they want. Now are yew gonna come wi'out a fight, or will we 'ave to make ya come wi' us?"

My eyes narrowed. "Take a wild guess."

"I guess that's a no, then."

"Your typical criminal intelligence entirely fails to astound me." Too late, I caught sight of one of the men swinging a board at my head out of the corner of my eye. "OW!"

* * *

**Triple A:** And this is what is known in the Latin as the common _Cliffhangerus Evilus_. *Ducks various projectiles thrown by angry readers* I'M SORRY! I know it's short and it's a crummy place to leave you all hanging, but again, I plead REAL LIFE!

**Enjolras:** Admit it. You're just a selfish fiend who wants to work on your novel and for everyone else to leave you in peace.

**Triple A:** (Pouty) I'm NOT selfish. If you must know, I'm worried that I've bitten off a smidgen more than I can chew with this whole NaNoWriMo thing, especially since I'm going for _above_ the recommended 50,000-word goal.

**Enjolras:** ...Why?

**Triple A:** Because I want to. Because I can...well, I thought I could anyway. I can still do it! I just need to focus on THAT STORY. In fact, the only real reason that this chapter got posted was because I promised the readers a fairly rapid update in the LAST chapter, AND because I wanted to tell them that I'll be off for a while because of the whole NaNoWriMo thing.

**Enjolras:** I see. Very well then. *Turns to readers* Please review! And feel free to support the Authoress in her hopeless endeavour. OW!

**Triple A: **It is NOT hopeless!!!!!!!! I'll prove you wrong! I'LL PROVE YOU ALL WRONG!!

**Enjolras:** Yeah yeah yeah, you keep telling yourself OW! OW OW! STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME!

**Triple A:** You wanna die, pretty boy?

**Enjolras:** ...Only in the name of freedom.

**Triple A:** Yeah. Thought so.

**Enjolras:** You're scary.

**Triple A:** Oh ho HO, you don't know the first THING about scary. You got anything else to say?

**Enjolras:** (Firmly) NO.

**Triple A:** Oh, goodie.


	11. Javert Gets A Nickname

**EXTREMELY IMPORTANT AUTHORESSIAL NOTE:** Please let me apologize PROFUSELY for the ridiculous delay. I know I said that this would be updated in December. It is now early February. I understand if some of you are absolutely FURIOUS, but please understand the circumstances behind this highly unfortunate event. I was BANNED from this website for a period of time, and only recently regained privileges, and only for a limited amount of time per week. So please, please don't hate me. I really am truly very sorry and will make up for it with a total lack of three-month delays in the future (provided I don't get kicked off the site again). So, if you can only forgive me... let the show go on!  
**  
Disclaimer:** I own the room, the crates, the magic glitter dust, and the crazy person. Nothing else is mine.

* * *

**.-.Javert's POV.-.**

I woke up in a large, dark room with a sizable bump on my head and absolutely no idea where I was. I was aware that I was cold, and that I was now wearing clothes that fit me fairly well. They were old, though, and they smelled musty. My nose wrinkled up, and I growled in disgust at my current situation.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered. "I should have been able to see that coming. I'm losing my touch."

"That's not true," came an unexpected and unfamiliar voice from the surrounding darkness. I jumped back, straining my eyes in an effort to see the speaker. "A seven-year-old boy cannot be expected to uphold the law as well as a 45-year-old man."

"Whoever you are, you do me justice," was my sharp response. "I was slightly older than 45, before they turned me into _this_." I ran a hand through my hair. It was back to its short, scruffy 7-year-old state, which irritated me. I much preferred my hair to be longer.

"Forgive my rudeness, I forgot that you wouldn't recognize me." I heard the sharp snap and hiss of a match being struck, quickly followed by a light and the creaking sound of an old lamp. The lamp moved (creaking horribly the entire time, I might point out), and after a moment I realized that it was being held up to a face.

The totally unfamiliar face of a boy who was a little older than me. Or… _was_ it unfamiliar? My eyes narrowed as I stared into his own.

And then it hit me.

"WHAT on EARTH!!!!! _YOU_!!!"

The boy, who was about 10 years old, flashed me a rueful grin. "Sorry, Javert. I tried to rescue you, but apparently that big fellow had some of that odd powder left. It's quite interesting and irritatingly sparkly. I still have some of it stuck in my hair. I've never encountered anything like it before."

"I wouldn't have expected you to," I snapped, "unless in addition to being a _thief_, you'd dabbled in black magic as well."

"What makes you think that it's black magic?" Valjean inquired, sounding quite unfazed by my reference to his crime. "Other than turning us into children, it seems to have done nothing else. I certainly wouldn't call it evil -"

"Other than? OTHER THAN?!" I interrupted him in a rage. "I'M TWO WHOLE FEET SHORTER THAN I WAS BEFORE!!! THIS IS HARDLY SOMETHING _MINOR_, 24601!!!"

The 10-year-old Valjean winced. "I've tried to forget that title…"

"Hard to forget it when it's branded on your chest, _con_." I spat the abbreviated version of the word with abject contempt as I turned away from him and squinted at the interior of the room. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could dimly make out shapes. Large, squarish shapes. "We're in a storeroom… with crates. I wonder what's in them."

"Oh-ho-ho, I'm afraid you're not allowed to know that, little boy."

I whirled around, and heard Valjean inhale sharply from his place not too far from me. "Who goes there?"

"Oh dear, I don't think you're allowed to know that either. Why don't you just call me a… _friend_." This statement was followed by a menacing (and, I felt, entirely unnecessary) chuckle.

"I don't make friends with criminals," I snapped. "Now, tell me who you are!"

"I think not." This time the voice was sharp, angry. "You are hardly in a position to demand things of me, _Antoine_. Now why don't you just settle down and behave yourself like the good little boy you are."

I blinked. "Wha – Antoine? Who on earth is Antoine?"

"Why, don't you remember? _You're_ Antoine. Or at any rate, you _will_ be, by the time I'm done with you."

I tried to determine from what direction the voice was issuing. In the meantime, I kept it talking. "What are you talking about? I think I deserve an explanation, after everything I've been through."

"Of course you do," the voice said in a soothing, patronizing tone that made it very hard for me to keep my growing anger under control. "The story goes thusly: there are some people out there, some very _rich_ people, who have lost their children, and who are willing to pay rather high amounts of money for lookalike replacements – or in some cases, simply a replacement. Imagine the grief of a father who has lost his only son and child, one Antoine DeRouge. And when I have the means to find people totally lacking in hope – like yourself, _Antoine_ – and give them another chance at life, a new life, a fresh start, and at the same time help grieving parents, well, how am I supposed to resist?"

"I am _not_ totally lacking in hope," I grated through clenched teeth.

"Oh, really? Then do please explain _why_ it is that my henchmen found you about to jump off a bridge into the angry waters of the Seine. That is something that normal, SANE people do only when they have lost all hope."

"It was _not_ a lack of hope!" I insisted angrily. "If you must know, it was rather more a lack of purpose, or a sense of overwhelming failure to accomplish anything. It may well have been a combination of the two. At any rate, it was an informed, well thought over choice, and a decision that I came to only after a great amount of consideration." My fists clenched by my sides. "You had no right to stop me!" I shouted into the darkness.

The voice responded by laughing at me. "On the _contrary_, lad. Once someone decides to throw their life away, then it is no longer their own, is it? I'm giving you a chance to _start over_." Now it sounded upset. "Most people would be _thanking_ me, you know! THANKING ME!" Instinctively, I ducked as a crashing sound came from somewhere nearby. "ARGH! NOBODY appreciates the THINGS I DO FOR THEM! And yet, I persevere, yes I do, because I know that in the end… in the end, they'll appreciate it in the end, haha, hahaha, hahahahaHAHAHA!" Another crash, the sound of a door slamming shut, and then absolute silence.

I sat down abruptly on the cold floor, wrapping my arms around my body both for warmth and the added sense of stability that the posture offered. "_How_ many years of service, and when I finally cross paths with a dangerous lunatic, I might as well be dead. I'm _supposed_ to be dead. To the world, I _am_ dead. There is no Inspector Javert any more… there's only Luc. No. Not even Luc." My lips twisted in a sneer as I continued to quietly rant at myself. "_Antoine_. Forced to live another boy's life, with people I don't even know… this is ridiculous."

"Now you really _have_ given up hope."

I started violently at the sound of Valjean's voice. During my conversation with our unknown captor, I had entirely forgotten that he was there.

"There is a way to fix this, you know," he continued in that same quiet, non-confrontational tone of voice.

"How?" I demanded, getting to my feet and leaning against a nearby crate. The lamp moved, creaking loudly and swinging violently back and forth in a wild, uncontrolled manner that put the flame inside at high risk of being extinguished. Apparently, however, it was a very resilient flame, because it managed to spring back to life even after it had almost gone out entirely.

"We can escape," Valjean said simply, placing the lamp carefully on top of a smaller crate between us. I closed my eyes against its gentle glow.

"Again: _how_?"

The explosion of high, unexpected laughter caused me to open my eyes in time to see the 10-year-old Valjean reach out and tousle my hair, a familiar gesture which I did not appreciate at all. It had much the same effect on me as rubbing a dog's fur the wrong way. I ducked away from his hand and placed slightly more distance between us. He got the hint and dropped his arm to his side, but the amused sparkle did not fade from his eyes.

"Really, Javert. Chief _Inspector_ Javert. I can't believe that you, of all people, are really asking _me_, of all people, that question. How many years was my original sentence at Toulon?"

I blinked. "Five."

"And how many years was I _in_ Toulon?"

"Nineteen."

"And why was my sentence extended for so long?"

"Because of repeated escape attempts on your part. I fail to see where this is going, 246 – Valjean," I amended abruptly. If we were going to be locked in a dark room together for any amount of time, I preferred not to argue with him. "Yes, you are experienced in this area. However, I am certain that I do not need to remind you that all of your attempts were utter failures. This does not inspire confidence in me for you at all."

I heard a distinct "tch" sound as Valjean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Practice makes perfect, Javert. After I skipped out on parole, exactly _how_ long did it take you to find me?"

I was silent for a time before answering. "…A while."

"And how much of that 'while' was I hiding right underneath your nose in M-sur-M, hmm? I am certain that I don't need to remind _you_ that everyone in that town, including yourself, was ignorant of my past."

I bit my lip at the memory. "Is this leading somewhere?"

"They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, Javvie." I twitched, violently. _Javvie_? Where on earth had THAT come from? "But is that really a bad thing when the old dog already knows every trick in the book?"

I sighed and pulled away from the crate against which I had been leaning. "Very well, Valjean. I shall go along with your… _scheme_. But only under one condition."

"And what is that?"

"If you _ever_ call me what you just called me _ever_ again, I swear to God that I will haul you down to the nearest police station and have you locked up for _life_."

"That's a very serious oath, Javert."

"I'm a very serious man, _Valjean_."

"Yes, you are. But such an oath is a very difficult one to fulfill when you're a 7-year-old boy."

With a start, I glanced down at myself. Today seemed to be a day for me to forget the most obvious things.

"#!"

"Javvie, what have I told you about swearing?"

I glowered at him. "Call me Luc if you must. Antoine, only if you find it completely necessary. But NOT _THAT_!"

"Nicknames are a part of the preteen life," Valjean said cheerfully. I couldn't imagine _why_ he was so cheerful. _I_ certainly hadn't been cheerful when this had first happened to _me_. "Surely you can think of something to call me."

"I can think of several things to call you off the top of my head. None of them are polite."

He sighed. "Well, what about _Jack_? You can call me Jack, can't you?"

"WHY WOULD I CALL YOU ANYTHING OTHER THAN YOUR REAL NAME?!" I yelled. "This is _ridiculous_! WHY are you so happy? One would think that you would be extraordinarily upset! What about Tia and Cosette? Aren't you _worried_ about them?"

"Well, yes," Valjean admitted, "but at the moment, there's really nothing that I can do for them, and nothing that I can do about my current physical state, so there's no point in worrying about it. If I do, I'll probably only spiral into some kind of depression and I won't snap out of it until I get the antidote for the sparkly stuff that caused this and get back home. So, I'm going to take our captor's advice and live a little. After all, it's not every day that you get a second chance like this. Do you know, I haven't felt this limber for years?"

I growled under my breath. "Very _well_. I see your point. But you do realize, of course, that there's probably no chance of us ever _getting_ the antidote, since he – whoever he is – wants us, or me anyway, exactly the way we are. Does he even know you're in here?"

Valjean blinked. "I don't know," he said after a moment of thought. "Those criminals just tossed me in here with you, and then they left. I'm not sure if they told him or -"

At that moment, he was loudly and rudely interrupted by a door slamming open, light flooding the room that we were in, and the tall, slender silhouette standing in the doorway shrieking at the top of its lungs in a voice recognizable as the one that had been taunting me earlier:

"WHO ON EARTH ARE YOU?!?!?!?!?!!!???!"

* * *

**A3:** Another cliffhanger. (Dodges deadly projectiles) SO SORRY! But this one will NOT be left for three months, as I explained at the beginning of the chapter. NO MORE of that will happen, even if I have to FORCE myself to write this story. IT WILL BE CARRIED OUT TO THE END!

**Enjolras:** Bravo, that's the spirit! Have at it! Tally-ho! _Viva le republique_! Here, you can hold the flag.

**A3:** Oh, thank you! (Takes it) ...AGH. This thing... is REALLY heavy. Here, take it back.

**Enjolras:** Fine. (Takes it) Oh, come on! You think that this is heavy? This thing is as light as a feather. See? (Balances flagpole on the palm of his hand)

**A3:** ........ (Turns to readers) Whoever reviews gets pictures of Enjolras in a sleeveless shirt that showcases his wicked awesome arm muscles of doom.

**Enjolras:** Indeed - hey, WAIT A MINUTE!!

**A3:** What can I say, man? You want reviews, appeal to the fangirls.

**Enjolras:** You need no reviews! YOU DESERVE NO REVIEWS! You LEFT the story for THREE MONTHS!

**A3:** HEY! One, I DO SO need reviews. I miss them. Desperately. And they encourage me to keep writing the story. Two, I realize that I'm probably very much hated by people for abandoning this for so long!! BUT THERE WERE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES INVOLVED! And it won't happen again.

**Enjolras:** Unless you get banned from again.

**A3:** Yes. Unless that happens. In which case I will do all that is in my human mortal 16-year-old power to get it BACK.

**Enjolras:** Good girl. (Tousles hair) You're not bad, kid, you're not bad. Now, help me RALLY THE PEOPLE from my BARRICADE!

**A3:** It's a balcony. (Referring back to Ch. 2)

**Enjolras:** CURSE THEIR WARNINGS AND THEIR **LIES**! THEY WILL SEE THE PEOPLE RISE!

**A3:** Whatever. You singing dramatically at the tippy-top of your impressive lungs doesn't change the facts.

**Enjolras:** I hate you.

**A3:** I know. And I love you. We have a wonderful relationship, don't we?

**Enjolras:** ...

**A3:** Yes, you're probably right. We should seek counseling. I'll just look into that, shall I...?


	12. Guns and Bottles

**Authoressial Note of Minor Importance:** Le gasp! A chapter update within two weeks! I'm on a ROLL! A toasted roll! With bread and jam! ...Yeah. Also, I am aware that revolvers had not yet been invented in this time period. But since it's MY story, and the universe is AU, not to mention the fact that it's a FANFICTION... I'm going to give the guy a revolver.

**Disclaimer:** The bad guys, the house, the bottles and their contents are all mine. In fact, even the plot is mine. Nothing else is mine, though. It all belongs to Victor Hugo. This makes me sad.

* * *

The 10-year-old Valjean froze in trepidation as the person swept forward into the room and approached him in the throes of what seemed to be some kind of a hysterical fit. Unconsciously, he took a step backwards, daunted by the stranger's height and obviously unstable mental state.

"Oh, look! The little brat is actually _frightened_ of me! That's good, boy. You should be."

If he really _had_ been ten years old, his pride would definitely have won out over the common sense that dictated that he keep his mouth shut, and he would have come back with a witty retort along the lines of "I'm NOT afraid!", which probably would have gotten him into a lot more trouble.

Fortunately, Valjean was not really ten years old, and it was too early in the transformation for him to start developing 10-year-old behavioral tendencies (to which Javert had already fallen prey), so he listened to his common sense and kept his mouth shut.

Their captor sprang forward and seized Valjean by the collar of his shirt. "Come along now, little boy. You too!" he snapped at Javert, who had been lurking nearby in the shadows. "There's been a problem with your situation and it must be fixed right now."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Javert snapped. The man stopped dead in his tracks, tilted his head back, and sighed heavily. Then he reached inside the long coat that he was wearing, pulled something out, turned around, and placed one end of the object against the former police inspector's forehead. The business end.

"An-_toine_," said his captor with an impressive amount of long-suffering irritation flooding the last syllable of the name. "Do. Not. Mess with me. A rather modern saying of which I am quite fond, chiefly because depending on the fashion in which it is delivered, it can inspire great amounts of fear and trepidation in the person who received the message. GREAT amounts," he added as an afterthought, staring blankly up at the ceiling for a moment before transferring his gaze back to Javert.

"Very well," he said abruptly, his tone of voice suddenly cheerful. "Come along, children! It's time to mess with nature. _Again_. HA!" And with that explosive burst of laughter, he steered Javert and Valjean around in front of him and marched the two boys out the door.

As Javert walked down the hall, blinking against the sudden flood of midmorning light that was streaming through the windows, it occurred to him that he had yet to see the maniac's face. This troubled him, and bothered and disturbed him. It was a fact that he latched on to and refused to let go of, which, in Javert's case, was not necessarily a good thing. He was inhumanly stubborn and almost always followed things through to the end.

"Don't," muttered Valjean, and Javert glanced at him, startled.

"Don't what? What are you -"

"I know you, Javert, and I know Luc too. Don't try to look at his face. Don't even think about it. Really, the man has a _revolver_ pressed to the back of your head. If you do anything remotely out of line, I feel quite sure that he will pull the trigger, despite the fact that you're obviously an asset to him. And, as you yourself have already pointed out, the man is hardly a pillar of mental stability."

"But if we manage to escape, we'll need to know what he looks like so that we can bring a physical description to the police!"

Valjean sighed as they rounded a corner. "I hate to burst your heroic, law-upholding bubble, Javvie -"

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT CALLING ME THAT!" Javert stopped dead in his tracks, and this earned him a rather painful whack on the head with the butt of the revolver. He winced and kept moving.

"Very well, _Luc_. As I was saying, there is no way that the police will believe a pair of young boys with a story like ours."

"But -" Javert began, only to have Valjean cut him off.

"You yourself were a police inspector only recently, Javert. Imagine that I came to you in my current physical form and told you about a complete lunatic who was turning grown men into children with a strange powder, then selling them to rich aristocrats for large sums of money. What would you say?"

Javert didn't even have to think about it. "Get out of my office, you little brat, I have better things to do than listen to your wild, made-up stories. And if you even so much as think about taking a single thing from my desk, I can assure you that you will find yourself sitting in a dark and desolate prison cell faster than you can blink. Do you understand?"

Valjean allowed a small smile to appear on his lips. "That's impressive. Did you rehearse it?"

Javert treated the convict to a cutting sideways glance. "I hardly need to _rehearse_ the telling-off of potential criminal activity, Valjean. It is something that comes quite naturally to me, especially after years of doing the same."

"I see."

Further conversation between the two of them was put off as they arrived at a large wooden door. Their captor kicked it, and it was opened from the inside by none other than Moe, the leader of The Gang.

"YOU!" Javert leapt at him, rage taking over every cell in his body. He heard Valjean shout "Javert, NO!" from behind him, but he ignored the convict. He didn't care if he got shot or what; this criminal was going to suffer for what he had done and what he had put him through, darn it!

Running forward, he kicked Moe sharply in the shin. Despite his strong and tough appearance, Moe was still susceptible to pain in such an area, and if his yell was anything to go by, Javert had caused him a considerable amount of it.

However, Moe was not at all one to simply 'turn the other cheek,' and before Javert could do anything else to the him, something – namely, Moe's fist – struck him hard on the side of his face and sent him flying backwards across the room. Their captor let out a wordless shriek of rage and, raising the pistol, aimed and fired.

"ARGH! What'd ya do tha' for, boss?!" Moe shouted, clutching at his wounded arm.

"What do you _think_ I did it for, you absolute _moron_?!" the man hissed. "If I've told you once, I've told you at least a _thousand_ times, and yet a thousand times again – NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHATSOEVER, ARE THE GOODS TO BE DAMAGED!!!! NEVER!! I'd ask you if you understand, but it's OBVIOUS that you DON'T, so NEVER MIND! ARGH!" Valjean, currently the only bystander, cringed as the madman kicked something nearby and started a chain reaction of falling somethings that culminated in an impressive smash at the far end of the room.

"I am staffed with IDIOTS!" the captor of the two boys screeched – not for the first time, either. "MORONS! DOOFUSES! Is that even a word, doofuses? Well, I just made it one. Hmm. IMBECILES!" Another shot was fired. Instinctively, Valjean ducked, but the only thing that ended up being damaged was a nearby window. "Dumbbells, goofs, worthless GARBAGE!" Another shot. This one was entirely un-aimed, and therefore, the fact that it happened to strike the dazed Javert as he struggled to his feet on the far side of the room was entirely coincidental.

The reaction of their captor to his entirely unintentional "damage of the goods" was to shriek something unintelligible at the top of his lungs and run out of the room through the same door by which they had entered, slamming it violently shut behind himself. Meanwhile, Valjean ran across the room to Javert's side. The former inspector had cried out and collapsed when the bullet struck him, and now he was lying perfectly still and obviously trying very hard not to make any sounds that might reveal the fact that he was in pain.

"My word, Javert! Are you alright?!" he exclaimed, falling to his knees by the ex-policeman's side.

"Yes, 24 – 24601," Javert grated out between clenched teeth, falling back on the old title out of habit and convenience, since he couldn't remember the exact name of the boy crouching beside him through the haze of pain he was currently experiencing. "I'm _perfectly_ alright. Getting punched and then shot in rapid succession is a relatively painless and also stress-relieving process. I suggest you try it sometime."

"The fact that you can still be sarcastic is comforting," Valjean said drily. "It implies that your wound is not fatal."

"Oh, huzzah," Javert hissed. "Imagine how much _better_ that makes me feel. Doesn't change the fact that it HURTS like bloody HECK."

"Don't swear," said the convict absently, casting about for something with which to stop the bleeding. Javert grimaced at a throb of sharp pain, then opened one eye to look reproachfully at Valjean.

"I didn't -"

"Yes, you did. Don't argue with me."

Before Javert could protest that Valjean was no one to give him orders, the door was flung open and their captor re-entered the room, carrying several oddly shaped bottles in his arms. For the first time, his face was clearly visible to them both. Valjean was surprised, and Javert was not, to see that his face was covered by a mask – nothing fancy, just a plain black mask that covered everything except his eyes and his mouth and chin. He was also wearing a long black coat with a hood that was flung up over his hair, effectively concealing its color and overall appearance from everyone in the room.

"Scram, little boy," he snapped, shoving Valjean violently to one side. Rather than kneel by Javert's side, he bent down, grabbed his arm, and yanked him to his feet. Valjean visibly winced, but Javert would not permit his tormentor to see or hear any signs that he was in pain, despite the fact that his efforts to be stoic were obviously costing him. His face was paper-white, and even though he was holding himself as still and straight as possible, it was still obvious that he was shaking.

"Hmm, yes, yes yes yes yes – NO! That, THAT, is all _wrong_!" The masked madman cut his hand through the air, about half a foot above Javert's head. "THE HEIGHT IS WRONG! He needs to be taller, he needs to be _older_. But first, we must attend to the wound. Ugh!" Dropping everything on the floor, he dropped to the ground and sifted through the items until he found what he was looking for – a clear glass bottle filled with a light, frothy purple liquid. "AHA! Hold still." Yanking out the cork, he held the bottle up to Javert's mouth and spilled some of the liquid inside. "Now swallow."

Javert glared at him and shook his head.

"Swallow, Antoine! SWALLOW! This is for your own good, you know!" The man stood up and sighed. "Very well. Let me put it this way. Swallow, or I'll kill your _gamin_ friend." He pulled out the revolver again and aimed it at Valjean – or rather, at where Valjean was supposed to be.

Another wordless shriek of rage and panic filled the air of the room.

"GYAAAIIIIIIRGH! Where is he?! Where did he go? Find him! FIND HIM!!!"

Javert was momentarily forgotten as Moe and the lunatic kidnapper ran from the room in search of Valjean, being careful to close and lock the door behind them. The bottles lay forgotten on the floor, and while he was being ignored, Javert seized the opportunity to kneel down – not without pain and difficulty – and sift through them in search of the antidote to the powder that had made him the way he was.

"Take them all."

He started as the 10-year-old Valjean appeared out of seemingly nowhere and began to pick up bottles. Spitting out the stuff in his mouth, he demanded, "What on – where have you been? Where did you go?"

"I slipped away and out of sight while they weren't looking at me. Now come along and hurry up. I know you can't move very fast with that injury of yours, but it won't be too long before they realize that I never left and come back."

Javert picked up the remaining bottles and got to his feet, forcing himself not to wince or grimace at the pain the motion caused him. "We don't even know which one of these is the antidote. And how on earth are you planning to get out of here?"

"We're going to leave through the window," Valjean responded simply. Javert blinked, then turned around and looked across the room. Sure enough, there was a large window on the back wall, larger than any of the others in the room. Even better, it was partly open. He couldn't think why he hadn't noticed it before – of course, the fact that it was half-concealed by heavy drapes that matched the wallpaper had probably contributed to his inability to see it. Being in a considerable amount of pain didn't help much, either.

"The window it is, then," he said shortly, and began to make his way towards it. He was almost there when he had to stop and take a deep breath; the stabbing agony in his side was making it difficult for him to continue.

"That's incredible."

"What is?" the former inspector asked sharply, continuing towards the window.

"…You," Valjean answered after a pause. "You've just been _shot_, and yet you have shown no obvious signs of being in pain; any normal boy, any normal _man_, would not even make an _attempt_ at escaping. There are some who would call you insane."

"And what do you call me?" Javert demanded, already halfway through the window, although it had taken considerable effort to get there. He really didn't care what Valjean called him; the conversation was simply something to keep his mind off the increasing pain in his side.

"Me? I'd call you the same thing I've called you for the past goodness-knows-how-many years: the most stubborn man in France."

Javert dropped to the ground below the window and closed his eyes tightly against an urge to cry out at the jarring impact. "I'd think that you were a close contender for that title, convict. How many times did I have you in my grasp, only to have you escape at the last minute like a – like a – I've no idea what it was like. Whatever it was, it was bloody annoying."

Valjean landed lightly on the ground beside him. "Tch, language, Luc."

Javert opened his mouth, about to make some kind of scathing retort, when suddenly the door inside the house slammed open. This abrupt and violent action was followed by absolute silence. Both boys froze outside the window, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, mere seconds later, the familiar scream of rage came, followed by an equally familiar crashing sound and then the sound of running footsteps, followed almost immediately by the sound of the door slamming shut. Valjean looked at Javert, and as their gazes locked, he flashed his former arch-enemy an enthusiastic grin.

"And now, Javert, _mon ami_, you get to know what it's like to be the one being chased. Isn't this exciting? It's an altogether new learning experience for you!"

"I'm NOT your _ami_," Javert growled. "And on another note, how on earth can you be enjoying this? I would think that it would be the worst possible kind if déjà vu - "

"And now we run," Valjean interrupted him, and grabbing Javert's wrist, he dragged the former inspector across the street, down a nearby alley, and out of sight of Moe as he came tearing around the side of the house that the two boys had just left.

"They're no' over 'ere, guv'nor," he called over his shoulder, and was answered with silence. The criminal winced. Generally, silence in lieu of a maniacal shriek meant that the boss was mad. REALLY mad.

And a REALLY mad boss meant for LOTS of verbal, not to mention physical, abuse. Followed by even more work. Moe moved his hand to cover the wound on his arm and turned slowly around to see the lunatic that he worked for leaning against the wall, absentmindedly fingering one of the window shutters and glowering darkly at the far side of the street.

All of a sudden, the madman stood up straight, and the glower was transferred to Moe. The criminal winced and closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to come. To his surprise, it didn't. He cautiously opened one eye.

The smack was swift, brutal, and involved fingernails, long and elegantly manicured fingernails that left bloody furrows down the left side of Moe's face.

"IDIOT!!!!"

* * *

**A3:** I love cliffhangers. Can you tell?

**Enjolras:** ...

**A3:** You are surprisingly non-talkative today. I demand to know why.

**Enjolras:** I HATE you.

**A3:** WHY?

**Enjolras:** ...I can't BELIEVE you just asked that.

**A3:** That doesn't answer my question.

**Enjolras:** (Gestures wildly at past chapters) LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH! I'VE BEEN TRAUMATIZED FOR LIFE! FOR LIFE!!!

**A3:** Nah, you're just overly sensitive. You'll get over it.  
**  
Enjolras:** I will NOT!

**A3:** ...But... I can't just let you leave. Not until the story's finished. It doesn't work that way. I need you. You're as much a part of this story as they are. (Points up at the chapter)

**Enjolras:** NO! In fact, I'm not going to put up with this any more. _Viva la republic_, _viva la people_ - now _viva la_ ME.

**A3:** ...Wait, what? You're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?

**Enjolras:** I don't work for you anymore. Nyah. I'm going on strike. I'm rebelling. It's TIME I stood up for myself. Now, GET BACK! Equality! Liberty! FREEDOM! (Deep breath) TO THE BARRICADE!

**A3:** Oh, come ON. Not the barricade AGAIN. How many times do I have to tell you - wait a minute. Wow. That's... a real barricade. I'm impressed. How long have you been working on this?

**Enjolras:** (Pops up and throws a spoon at her) VIVA LA FRANCE!

**A3:** (Ducks) You can rebel, but you can't leave. I'm the Authoress, you know. I CONTROL you. And, just for the record, it annoys me that your barricade blocks off my kitchen.

**Enjolras:** Ha! Now you can't starve me out! Or rather, US!

**A3:** Oh yeah, sure, give it your worst... wait a minute, us? Who are you talking about, US?

**Courfeyrac:** (Pops up) Hi there!

**A3:** ....o.O WHAT THE HECK!!! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I DID NOT AUTHORIZE THIS!!! And to make matters worse, we're out of time for this ending authoressial note. I take it back. I HATE CLIFFHANGERS.


	13. Javert Gets A Pep Talk

**Semi-Important Authoressial Note: **Firstly, I would like to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. (Deep breath) ARGH! A WHOLE MONTH! WHAT KIND OF A PERSON AM I?!?!? …Rather a busy one, apparently. Except I can't really use that as an excuse because… I sort of forgot that this story existed for a while. (Cringe) I'm SORRY! I eventually remembered and flipped out and have FINALLY gotten around to finishing up this chapter (which has been in-progress for SOME TIME now) and posting it. Hooray!

Secondly, since it's been a while since I've worked on this story/read the book/listened to the musical/read anything even remotely _Les Mis_-related, the characters MIGHT act weird, say strange things, and in laymen's terms, be OOC. I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY IF THEY ARE, and will do my according best to fix it in the next chapter.

Thirdly, the Ending Authoressial Note is insanely long. You have been warned. It's got a MIND OF ITS OWN.

Fourthly, and lastly: BEHOLD, I say unto you! A Special Edition chapter, told from none other than Jean Valjean's own personal point of view! WHOO!

Alright, I'm done now. Thank you, and good day. :)

**Disclaimer: **It's mine. I can say this because Victor Hugo is long dead and cannot sue me unless he becomes a zombie or something for that sole purpose. So nyah.

…On second thought, I'll cover my butt anyway and tell the truth. IT'S NOT MINE! REALLY! So don't sic V.H. zombies on me! Or lawyers. Lawyers might even be scarier than zombies. Some of them, anyway.

Hey, but I DO own Inspector Arnaud. Who is he, you ask? Well, you'll just have to read the chapter and find out. SO THERE. :P

* * *

**-.-****Valjean's POV****-.-**

"No. Oh, no. Valjean, NO."

"Oh, come on, Javert," I said encouragingly. "It's not THAT bad…"

"24601," he snarled, using my convict number in his increasing rage, "that place smells worse than some criminals that I have had the pleasure of putting away for ever, and _that_ is saying quite a lot."

"Dear me. I hope I wasn't one of them. Now, if I'm not mistaken, this comes out somewhere near my house…"

"Are you telling me that you've _memorized_ the layout of the local _sewers_?!"

I didn't quite manage to restrain myself from laughing aloud at the completely disgusted tone of his voice. "Not exactly. I _have_ seen a few blueprints here and there… with you hanging around, it helps to know these things. And see? Indirectly, you _are_ the reason we're here right now."

"Wha – _I_ didn't get us into this mess! You're the one who went all escape-happy and wanted to jump out the window."

I choked back a snicker and waved my hand ahead of us. "Turn up here. Just a little bit longer and then we're out of here. Can you make it?"

I could _feel_ him glaring at me. "If your concerns veer towards me fainting of blood loss in a _sewer_, I can assure you that such a thing will _never_ happen."

"Oh, goodie," I said, sounding much more cheerful than I felt. In truth, I was only keeping up my happy and seemingly carefree visage for his sake, since it seemed to help if he had someone at whom he could direct his anger and frustration.

I glanced back at him and shook my head. I was truly amazed at his ability – born of sheer stubbornness – to withstand such incredible pain without saying a word about it. I was also getting more worried by the minute. The human body has only so much blood in it at any given time, and Javert had lost quite a lot of his – not to mention the fact that he was losing even more with every step. He needed to get somewhere safe where he could be treated. Where I could at least slow the bleeding down before he really _did_ collapse on me.

I rounded the corner and smiled as I saw the grate ahead of us. "See? I told you I'd get us out of here. I think an apology is in order."

Silence. I smirked.

"Oh, come come, Javert. There's no need to be difficult. 'I'm sorry.' It's just two little words."

Still no response. With a theatrical sigh, I turned around.

And gasped. "_Javert_!"

The ex-police inspector was leaning against a slime-covered sewer wall, his eyes shut tight and a hand pressed to his wound. I noted with horror that his shirt was soaked in blood, and not only that, but he was so pale that he almost resembled a ghost in the darkness of the sewers. His slow, shallow breaths were barely audible, and his entire body was trembling.

I hurried back towards him and slung his free arm over my shoulder. "There you go, calm down. Breathe, just breathe. Don't think about anything except walking. I've got you."

His eyes fluttered open, and a string of mumbled profanities passed his lips. I had to restrain the urge to correct him, not being a user of swear words myself. The cursing was followed by a sentence, so quiet that it probably wasn't meant for me to hear, but nevertheless so desperate-sounding that I stopped and bent down in order to hear it anyway.

"_F… failure… failure is not an option."_

I was startled by his sudden and violent attempt to support himself and keep moving. Half of a desperate whimper escaped his mouth, but he clamped down on it and replaced it with a kind of semi-snarl that was also cut off in favor of breathing.

I was amazed. No; I was more than amazed. I was astonished. Had I been in my grown-up form, I would have carried him without hesitation. As it was, I was not, and though I was strong, I wasn't strong enough to pick him up and walk the rest of the way. Besides, I somehow suspected that slinging him over my shoulder wouldn't be conducive to his condition in the slightest sense of the term.

I kept moving, closer and closer to the grate. A wave of gratitude washed over me as I realized that, by some wonderful twist of fate – or perhaps a stroke of Providence – it had been left unlocked. Thanking God under my breath, I headed towards it.

Then Javert planted his feet in the ground and spoke.

"Just keep going. Go on without me. Leave me here, I'm not worth it, don't let both of us die because of…" He trailed off, his sudden burst of energy exhausted, leaving him limp and gasping for breath.

Everything was silent for a moment as I registered this. Then my brow furrowed, my eyes narrowed, and I clenched my only free hand into a fist.

I was angry.

"Who do you think you are? Or rather, _what_ do you think you are?" I demanded furiously. "You're not just some kind of animal, or slave! Duty is not the only thing on earth to live for! And once you've tried your very level best, once you've gone above and beyond the call of duty in the name of whatever it is you're working for or towards, then blast it all, failure IS an option! Nobody's _perfect_, you stubborn fool, not even _you_. And don't you dare give up on it all now, not when we're so close. Just who do you think you are?" I repeated. "If you're the Javert I know, the policeman who didn't give up on me for _years_ and _years_, even when everybody else thought I _had_ to be dead – the policeman who hunted me to the ground, to the very _barricades_, who put his _life_ in danger in the name of the law – then you won't give up! Not now! Not yet! Because we've _got_ the cure for this, and once we both take it then we can catch these criminals _together_."

I paused, took a deep breath, and abruptly switched to a different tack.

"They're still out there, Javert. There are criminals, out there, that haven't been brought to justice. Strange, weird, insane criminals they may be, but criminals nonetheless, and giving up and failing right here and right now is _not an option_, you're right, because you haven't done your best to bring them to justice. Do you hear me?" I snapped. "Don't you DARE give up on me now! DON'T YOU DARE!"

My final words echoed through the sewers, but other than that, there was silence. And the silence continued for some time, until finally, Javert lifted up his head and stared at me with a pained expression on his face and in his eyes.

"24601, when we get out of here… explain to me _why_ you _always_ have to win."

I beamed at him. "Because I'm a survivor, Javert. It's what we do. Are you a survivor, Javert?"

He caught sight of the grate, the exit into the world beyond, to safety and comfort and out of the stench and muck of the sewers, and an expression of determination stamped itself upon his features. "If you say so."

* * *

We approached the house with caution and no plan other than to stay out of sight. While Cosette would probably recognize Javert, she would not recognize me – a fact that it pained me to admit, but a fact nonetheless. And Javert sneaking into the house with a strange boy after a prolonged absence would not be a good thing in her eyes. Or in _anyone's_ eyes, come to think.

Climbing through the front gates, circling around to the back of the house through the garden, and slipping in the back door was easy. It was when we were inside that things got difficult.

The first thing we heard was Cosette, speaking to someone in a plaintive and desperate tone of voice that tore at my heart. "But, officer, you don't understand! They've been missing for some time now, and my father for one _never_ leaves me alone for this long. Ever. He just… he just isn't like that."

I didn't quite catch what the policeman said, but at the sound of his voice, Javert stiffened and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What is it?" I asked. "Do you know him?"

Javert forced himself to relax. "Suffice to say that I know _of_ him, and that's plenty. Why are we here again?"

I sighed. "If we're going to use one of those potions to make us bigger, we'd better have some other clothes on hand, because there's no way these scraps will fit us once we change back."

"Ah." Javert nodded. "Yes, you're absolutely right. Unfortunately, the stairs that lead up to the second floor where your bedroom is located are in the living room, which is where Cosette and M. le Inspecteur are. How do you propose we get past them?"

I bit my lip. "Well, I was going on something along the lines of a distraction, but I suppose… I suppose we _could_ wait until they go somewhere else."

Javert sighed. "Valjean. As someone with copious amounts of experience in the field of surveillance, I can tell you that when two people are talking together, they generally take quite a long time to move from one place to another. Only the interference of an exterior catalyst will cause them to -"

He was interrupted by the sound of the kettle whistling. This was followed by Cosette saying,

"Oh, there's the water ready. Come into the kitchen with me and we can continue talking. Tia is out at the moment, shopping, so I'll have to make it myself…" Her voice died away as she moved into the kitchen, followed by the policeman (presumably).

"Now we make our move," Javert said confidently. "Are you ready, Valjean?"

I nodded. "Ready."

We made it from the back door to the hallway, then from there into the living room and to the stairs. We were halfway up to the second floor when Javert's knees suddenly buckled underneath him and he fell. My hand shot out and caught him before he could go tumbling backwards down the stairs.

"We need to get that wound treated," I murmured, regarding him with no little concern. "Where did they hit you?"

"Directly above the right hip, and back a little," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Where's your bedroom?"

"Here." I led him down the hall and kicked open the door, which I had left slightly ajar. "Alright. I've got some of the bottles; what about you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Put them on the bed." Getting increasingly worried about Javert's condition by the second, I dumped the potions on the bed and then began to look through them. "Alright, antidote, antidote, we need an antidote…"

"I think one of them is for treating injuries." Javert's voice was tight and strained as he tried not to show his pain. "That lunatic ran and got them after he shot me."

"That's right. Well, maybe they're labeled." I looked on the top and sides of the bottle that I was holding before finally turning it over to find a label glued onto the bottom. "Well, that's convenient. What does it say, though? My goodness, he has horrible handwriting. _Advanced Morphation Serum_? No. Not what we need." I placed the bottle to one side and looked at another. "_Sight Enhancer_. No." I picked up a third bottle and checked the label. It was long and wordy, and accordingly written in tiny, spidery handwriting that I would not have been able to read at all in my grown-up form. For the first time I was thankful for my current 10-year-old state and the keener eyesight that came with it as I peered at the label. "_The Sole Antidote for the Child-Morphing Glitter Powder_. This is it." I held the bottle up and eyed it cautiously. "I wonder how much we're supposed to take?"

"The powder seems to work under the general principle that the more you sprinkle on someone, the younger they get," Javert said. "Maybe it's the same in this case."

I nodded, then glanced at him. Something in his voice had alerted me to the fact that he was potentially upset about something, and now I was surprised to see that despite the obvious pain he was experiencing, he had chosen to remain standing – and more than that, he had placed himself beside my bedroom door, which was still slightly open.

"Javert?" I queried. "Is something wrong? …Is this about that policeman?"

Javert was silent for a moment before turning to me, a stony expression on his face that would have been far more effective in his adult form. "His name is Inspector Bartholomieu Arnaud, and he has a… reputation. Most of it is based on rumors, without enough proof to get him kicked off the force, but rumors are more often than not based on truth."

A growing sense of dread prompted me to ignore good manners and interrupt him. "Javert, kindly get to the point."

Rather than send me a dirty look, he returned his gaze to the door and responded, "Take the potion – about half should do the trick, I'm guessing – and get dressed. I'll tell you the rest after the potion."

Making a noise of assent, I uncorked the bottle and tossed back approximately half of the drink. It didn't taste bad at all – in fact, it was rather sweet. A little _too_ sweet for my tastes, though. As for the transformation process, it wasn't too traumatizing or impressive, though it _was _a little strange – somewhat akin to sitting on the floor on your knees and then jumping to your feet. There was a sudden rushing in my ears, and a blur as I shot up to my normal height and weight.

I blinked and checked to ascertain that everything was okay, that the potion hadn't given me a tail or an extra foot or anything of the sort. It hadn't. Making a face, I grabbed some clothing and started to put it on, listening to Javert's piping 7-year-old voice as he continued to speak.

"Simply put, he's a womanizer. This wouldn't be anyone else's problem if he kept it to himself and inside his private life, but he tends to take it over the edge. He's been known to seduce and accordingly… _do things_ to numerous female civilians whose cases he has been treating."

The sense of dread had turned to a boiling combination of rage and horror. "Javert, why didn't you tell me this before?!"

He shrugged. "Had I told you while you were still in your child form, it is likely that you would have forgotten your physical state and taken him on anyway. At any rate, I doubt that Cosette would easily let him charm her, however distressed she may be over your disappearance."

"_Our_ disappearance," I corrected him, and was rewarded with a snort of disbelief.

"Believe what you will, Valjean. As I was saying, I feel fairly sure that she would not succumb to his advances, no matter how -"

He was interrupted by a loud scream from downstairs, followed by the voice I knew so well crying "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Without a thought beyond assisting Cosette, I snatched a walking stick up from where it leaned against my bedside table and bolted out of the door and down the stairs, leaving Javert behind me in my flight to aid my adopted daughter.

* * *

**A3: **Ah, our heroes are faced with yet _another_ criminal obstacle in their fight for truth, justice, AND THE REVOLUTIONARY WAY! …Well, not that last one so much as the first two. I've just got revolutionaries on the brain since they've TAKEN OVER MY KITCHEN. (Glowers at the barricade)

**Enjolras:** (Pokes head up) You've had this coming, you know, so don't complain about it.

**A3:** What? How could I _possibly_ have had this coming?! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?

**Enjolras:** ……Anyone here want to field that one?

**Combeferre:** (Joins Enjy) Enjolras, I must point out that while the girl _has_ caused you slight embarrassment and inconvenience several times over the course of these Ending Authoressial Notes, as they are so called, she has not actually done anything so terribly severe as to warrant the "mental trauma" that you insist you now suffer from.

**A3:** WHOOO! GO FERRE! You're one of my favorites, you know that, right?

**Enjolras:** What are you trying to get at here, Combeferre? Are you… REBELLING AGAINST THE CAUSE?!??

**Combeferre:** No, I am not.

**A3:** Aw, darn.

**Combeferre:** (Ignoring the Authoress) I am simply trying to point out to you the fact that this rebellion, this revolution, this… _avoidance of the problem_, seems somewhat pointless.

**Enjolras:** (Twitch) You may want to shut up now, Combeferre.

**Combeferre:** (Pressing home the point) No, you don't understand. Rallying the people in the cause of liberty, fraternity, and equality, _these_ are things for which I am willing to lay down my life. But… being forced to wear a dog costume? Inform people about NaNoWriMo? Plead for reviews? I hate to say it, but these are not worthy causes.

**A3:** So HA! You been OWNED, homedawg!

**Enjolras:** (Shrieks) DON'T CALL ME THAT! (To Combeferre) I can't believe that I _trusted_ you. To THINK, that my CLOSEST companion would BETRAY ME!!!

**Combeferre:** (Calmly) Now, I never said that I was _leaving_, did I? I just wanted you to understand that this is, to be painfully frank, sheer stupidity. I mean, we're not even using lethal weapons. See? (Holds up spoon)

**Enjolras:** Have you ever been whacked to death by kitchen utensils? It's a far more fitting and painful death for the likes of HER than a simple musket shot.

**A3:** Uh, yeah, THANKS A LOT. It's nice to know you CARE. …Does ANYONE in there want to leave Enjolras and his pathetic and hopeless cause, and come join me and ask nicely for reviews at the end of every chapter?

**Courfeyrac:** It all depends, doll. Do you have any more of this breakfast cereal stuff? 'Cuz it's like, _ambrosia_.

**A3:** I most certainly do. And you can _live_ on it, for all I care.

**Courfeyrac:** GREAT! Because I just finished the last box in your kitchen. (Jumps over the barricade) Goodbye, boys.

**Enjolras:** Wha – WAIT! JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING??!

**Courfeyrac:** I'm leaving you and your kitchen utensils in favor of tasty good sugary yummyfulness. So bleh. (Sticks tongue out)

**Enjolras: **TRAITOR! (Flings spoon) YOUR DEATH SHALL BE SWIFT! But only because you were ONCE my trusted friend and comrade! Otherwise, you would die SLOWLY and PAINFULLY like HER! (Jabs a finger at A3)

**Courfeyrac:** Uhhh… the only weapon you have is _kitchen utensils_. How are you going to kill _me_ quickly?

**Combeferre:** (Holds up a loaf of moldy bread) Biological warfare.

**A3:** …Quickly, Courfey, beg for reviews before this Ending Authoressial Note reaches astronomical proportions.

**Courfeyrac:** That's REALLY all you're worried about right now? They've got SPOONS! And MOLDY BREAD!!

**A3:** All to be dealt with in next chapter's EAN, I assure you. Now GO!

**Courfeyrac:** FINE. (Turns to readers) Tune in next time to find out chiefly what happens to Valjean and Javert and Company, and secondarily, what happens to the Authoress and I in KITCHEN WARS: AMIS STYLE!

**A3:** Wow. Nice. Did you practice that?

**Courfeyrac:** There's a radio in your kitchen and not a lot to listen to during the daytime besides music and radio dramas. I learn from the latter. And annoy the Enj with the former.

**A3:** Nice. (Thumbs up) But you forgot to ask for reviews.

**Courfeyrac:** Oops, did I? Heh heh. Sorry! WAIT, DON'T CHANGE THE CHANNEL! Please hang around and tell the feedback-hungry Authoress and, more importantly, ME, what you thought!

**A3:** Wait a minute, why are _you_ more important?

**Courfeyrac:** I'm thinking of taking up acting. Feedback is essential for me to develop my mad performance skillz.

**A3:** …Okay then. We'll see you next time, on _Readers, I Shrank the Inspector_/_Kitchen Wars: Amis Style!_ Wait, this has turned into a crossover-serial-thingy?

**Courfeyrac:** Who cares! Just end the madness!!

**A3:** (Sighs) FINE. (Screen goes black)


	14. Javert Saves Cosette

**Important Authoressial Note:** **_WARNING_** - This chapter MIGHT be worthy of being rated T... I mean, there's no language or anything, but Javert is moping about his suicide again (I felt it to be necessary) and I don't THINK it's worthy of upping the rating but I worry. Because I'm paranoid. I don't really think it's worthy of this precaution, as I've already said, BUT I WANTED TO BE SURE. :D Never say I'm not responsible.

Moving on, I've been looking back over the posted chapters of this story and I have decided that I'm quite sick to death of apologizing practically _every single time_ I post a new chapter. So, this time, I'm starting it off with a big HELLO! followed by a Hey, while it's been a long time since I've posted a chapter, at least it hasn't been THREE MONTHS this time!! Yay!

I actually had a new chapter written up waaaaay before this... but I was looking at it again and decided that I didn't like it much, so after ignoring it for a long time I finally pulled it out, re-wrote it, and here's chapter 14 of RISTI. I thank you all for your patience. It is much appreciated.

Oh, and I've been wanting to say this: TO ALL YOU WONDERFUL REVIEWERS OUT THERE, I THANK YOU! YOU ROCK!!! And seriously, every review you leave _makes_ my _day_. I know I don't respond to them the majority of the time, but I just want you all to know... I'm insanely grateful to you guys. You're patient with me, you keep on reviewin' even when I take so hideously long to update, and your encouragement is, in part, what keeps this story going. You guys are AWESOME!

**Disclaimer:** Tragic as it is, I own nothing in this chapter at all. Except Inspector Arnaud. And I don't like him much.

* * *

Valjean exploded into the kitchen to find Inspector Bartholomieu Arnaud pinning Cosette to a wall near the kitchen table, his hands keeping her arms above her head and a disgusting leer on his lips. Uncontrollable rage flooded Valjean's body as he took two long steps forward and lashed out with his stick, catching the police officer on the side of one knee.

"ARGH!" Whirling, Inspector Arnaud met Valjean's smoldering glare with his own angry, startled gaze, which quickly turned into a guilty and cornered look as he realized who and what he was dealing with – specifically, Jean Valjean, a very strong, very large man and an absolutely furious father.

He didn't try to make excuses, nor did he flee from the scene of the crime. Rather, he pulled his gun out of its holster on his hip and aimed it at Valjean.

"Don't move," he grated through clenched teeth, "and don't you dare try anything with that stick of yours. In fact, why don't you just drop it altogether." It was a command, not a request.

"Not until I've smashed your pretty face in with it," Valjean snarled. Arnaud, who did have rather effeminate features, scowled and raised his weapon to the ex-convict's head.

"We'll see how well you can accomplish that task with a bullet through your skull, _old man_."

"No! Wait! Stop!" Cosette cried, rushing forward and taking hold of the inspector's arm. "Don't do this!" Her voice faltered, broke. "I – I'll do anything you want," she said quietly.

"NO." Valjean clutched the walking stick tighter, crouched into an offensive stance. "Cosette, _get away from him_."

Inspector Arnaud regarded him with a patronizing expression. "My good man, it really appears that you have no say in the situation, since all you have is that remnant of a perfectly good tree, while I am holding a lethal weapon – which, by the way, is pointing at a rather vital part of your body. Now then," he purred, returning his attention to Cosette. "What were you saying?"

Cosette was trembling and close to tears, but she repeated herself. "I said – I said that I'll do anything you want."

The leer was back. "Now _that's_ what I like to hear," he murmured, but as he reached out for her she backed away.

"Only on the condition that you let my father go!" she exclaimed, and Arnaud stared at her.

"Oh. Well, that presents a problem. You see, I can't very well have my way with you while I'm aiming this pistol at his head. I _could_ just tie him up and leave him somewhere, but he's seen my face and that won't do at all. You see, he could report me to my superiors," indicating his uniform with a smirk, "and with you as a corroborating witness, they might for once have enough of a case to lock me up where I probably belong."

His expression became thoughtful. "On the other hand, I could just hold this to _her_ head, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to risk getting your daughter's brains blown out. But then again, she has such a pretty face that it really would be a shame to ruin it."

Valjean was shaking with rage. "You're insane," he hissed. Arnaud flashed a grin at him.

"No, not really. Just clever. Very, very clever. You see, I've been doing this for years and I haven't gotten caught yet, so I would definitely put myself on the 'genius' side of the line between that and insanity."

"Would you."

The words were delivered in a cold, biting tone of voice that perfectly conveyed the speaker's disapproval of Arnaud's actions. On the corrupt inspector's part, he obviously recognized it, because he whipped around with a startled gasp to stare at the man who had just walked in through the back door of the kitchen. However, he still maintained enough presence of mind to grab Cosette and place his weapon to her head in order to keep Valjean from jumping on him while his back was turned.

"I-I-I-Inspector Ja-Javert," he stammered. "Th-th-they, they, the papers… they said you were dead!"

Javert, dressed in Valjean's clothing (which, it must be admitted, was somewhat loose on his less well-toned frame), leaned against the doorframe and regarded Inspector Arnaud with the same simultaneously intense and unattached gaze that he had fixed on many a criminal well before Arnaud's time.

"Obviously the papers were wrong." Javert tilted his head slightly to the left – the opposite direction from the one in which he was leaning. This had the oddly disconcerting effect of making Arnaud feel like a mouse being stalked by a falcon. "As you can see, I am quite alive."

"I – but – you – _you can't be_! Dead people don't come back to life!!"

Javert arched a single eyebrow. "Of course not."

"SO WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" the inspector shrieked, gripping Cosette tighter. The girl was doing an admirable job of not showing her fear, despite the fact that she was still shaking like a leaf and silent tears were streaking down her face.

"Well, duh. I never _died_." For a moment, Javert looked appalled at his slip into the realm of 7-year-old slang; then he regained his composure and dangerously calm air. "And going back to our original topic of conversation, I feel fairly certain that a _genius_ would have made sure that it was impossible for someone to sneak in through the back door while he committed his crimes."

"Javert, don't provoke him," Valjean whispered, but Javert ignored him and, accordingly, got precisely the reaction that he had wanted – Inspector Arnaud got angry. More than angry; he was _furious_. Dropping his guard entirely, he shoved Cosette away from him with such force that she fell to the floor. Having thus disposed of his only assurance of personal security, he stormed up to Javert and pressed the pistol against his head.

"I! AM! BRILLIANT!" he screamed. "Do you KNOW how long I've been getting AWAY with this sort of thing?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY IDEA?"

Javert regarded him quietly, without the slightest trace of fear or alarm in his eyes. "How long?"

"THREE YEARS!" A twisted grin split across Arnaud's face. "Three – whole – years! And nobody ever suspected me! That's why I _became_ a policeman in the first place – nobody EVER suspects them! You never even _guessed_!"

A slight smile tugged at a corner of Javert's mouth. "Oh, on the contrary. We guessed. We guessed a long time ago."

Behind Arnaud, Valjean began to move forward with the stick raised in the air, but a subtle motion of Javert's hand stayed his motion. Lowering the stick, he instead moved silently over and helped Cosette to her feet.

Meanwhile, Arnaud continued to be enraged. "HOW? How could you have EVER guessed?! I was CAREFUL! No one _ever_ caught me. No one ever even _knew_." He smirked. "And none of them ever told. Ever. Not when I told them what I'd do to them if they did."

An understanding "hmm" sound emerged from Javert's throat. "And what did you say that you would do to them if they told?"

The inspector raised an eyebrow. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

At Javert's wordless sound of assent, the smirk turned into a thoughtful expression. "Well… I'm going to kill you anyway, so I suppose it can't hurt." With that, he leaned forward and whispered something into the taller man's ear. Javert was silent for a moment after Arnaud's confession. Then, without taking his eyes off the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing, he spoke.

"Now."

Before Inspector Arnaud could react, Valjean sprang forward and struck the man a criminally hard blow (no pun intended) over the back of the head with his stick. Without making a sound, Arnaud crumpled to the floor in a heap. Javert knelt down and checked the inspector's pulse.

"Hmm. He's not dead. Just as well, I suppose; the police will be here any minute and we wouldn't want them to haul you off on a charge of murder." He stood up and nodded cordially to the still-twitching Valjean and the traumatized Cosette. "If you need me, I shall be upstairs."

Valjean blinked. "What? But – why? Don't you want to be here when they come to take him away?"

Javert gave him a wry look. "Va - Fauchelevent. I resigned from the police force prior to…" He paused, his gaze darting to Cosette and back. "Prior to _the incident_. If they find out that I am still… _here_, then I fear -" He broke off. "Good day."

He swept past them and made his way up the stairs – no longer in pain, thanks to the _All-Purpose Healing Potion_. He knew that there would be questions later, after the police had gone, but for now he simply wanted to be alone, to think. For weeks now, he had been yearning to re-acquire his adult body. Now that Inspector Javert was back, and Luc was a thing of the past, he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Because he _wasn't_ an inspector – he was an _ex_-inspector. And he would find it shameful to return to the force after resigning. The problem was that more than half of Paris recognized him on sight, and he knew for a fact that once they found out that he was alive, the police force would want him back. They had found him frustrating at times, he knew that from rumors and whispered conversations, but ever since he had decided to uphold the law he had done it with a determination and ferocity which no other officer had been able to compare to.

And that was another problem. Now that he was "grown up" again and unable to go back to his previous career, he had no idea what he should do with himself. His entire life had been focused around law, order, and frankly, Jean Valjean. Now that Valjean was essentially free, he had nothing. No purpose, no function, no identity.

_How_ had he not realized all of this when he was still in the body of a child? He was, in all honesty, better off with that nameless lunatic running his life. He would have at least had a second chance at life – the life he now felt had been, at least in part, wasted. How many other criminals could he have put away for good while he was busy pursuing Valjean across the country, not to mention across _time_?

Javert fell back on Valjean's bed and glared up at the ceiling. "#! WHY DIDN'T THEY JUST LET ME JUMP IN?!"

Outside the door, Valjean halted prior to knocking. Javert's shouted snarl was indicative of the fact that he was having dark thoughts. Valjean did not like dark thoughts, nor did he approve of them, especially in people who had already tried to commit suicide once.

He knocked sharply once, then pushed the door open and entered his bedroom. Javert had not moved, still lying on his back on Valjean's bed, surrounded by bottles of varying sizes and states of fullness – or emptiness, depending on how you want to look at it.

"What was that downstairs just now, Javert?" he asked, closing the door and leaning against it. There was a long pause. Then the ex-inspector spoke, rephrasing and completing his sentence from earlier.

"I resigned from the police force prior to _attempting_ to commit suicide. If they find out that I am still alive, then I fear that I will be unable to resist returning to upholding the law."

Valjean frowned. "Why is that such a bad thing?"

Javert sat up. "Because I _resigned_, Valjean! That would be like – like – like admitting defeat to an opponent and then showing up to confront them again at a contest that you didn't even enter! It would be _terrible_!"

Valjean stifled a sudden urge to laugh. "But surely you're taking this just a bit too seriously, Javert. I mean, a resignation has to be _approved_, am I not right? And _filed_?"

"Yes, but -"

"And _why_, Javert, would they go to _all_ the trouble of doing that if you're _dead_?"

Something flickered in Javert's eyes. It was gone so quickly that it may as well never have been there, but Valjean saw it, and recognized it as something that he himself had experienced many, many times before.

_Hope_.

"That's not the _point_," Javert said, doggedly persistent in his argument. "The point is -"

"Forget about the point for a moment," Valjean said unexpectedly. "How did you get the police over here to pick up Arnaud? You never said."

Javert raised an eyebrow. "You never asked."

"Well, I'm asking now," Valjean said, sliding down the door into a seated position on the floor.

"Very well. I consumed some of this first," he said, picking up a bottle filled with a dark purple liquid. "The label calls it _All-Purpose Healing Potion_. Then I slipped out your front door, made tracks for a police station, somehow got them to believe me – because I can tell you from personal experience that officers do not readily believe the things that filthy little boys tell them – gave them your name and address, and left. I came back here, took some of the antidote for our 'condition,' and then headed downstairs to distract Arnaud. He's a bit of a loose cannon."

"Yes, I gathered that," Valjean said amiably. Then, with admiration in his tone, "You were wonderfully calm about it when he put that gun to your head. I was quite impressed."

A blank look entered Javert's eyes. "There was no point in panicking," he said flatly. "He had it touching me, there was no way I could have gotten away in time even had I wanted to."

"Even had you…" Valjean's mouth fell open in horror. "_You wanted him to shoot you_?!"

"No, Valjean, of course not," Javert snapped. "Don't be an idiot. What I didn't want was to _get away_. If I had escaped – somehow – then his attention would have returned to you and Cosette, he would have been in a worse mood than before, and all of my efforts would have been entirely in vain. Goodness, whatever possessed you to think that I wanted him to kill me?"

"Well – I – you looked rather bleak when you said that," Valjean said awkwardly. "And anyway, all this protest is coming from a man who was good and ready to throw himself off a bridge!"

The smallest of smiles touched Javert's lips. "Valjean," he said abruptly.

"Javert?"

"Your clothes do not fit me. I am going to go to my old home and acquire some of my own clothing."

Valjean frowned. "But… you've been supposed dead for weeks. Won't your things have been discarded and your home inhabited by another?"

The smile grew larger and became wry. "Valjean, believe me when I say that _no one_ apart from me would want to live in my home. In fact, no one has set foot in it apart from me when I purchased it. Also, no one knows where I live, so my things will be _exactly_ where I left them." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I won't leave until dark. I don't want anyone to recognize me."

Valjean sighed. "Javert, you can't hide forever."

The ex-inspector (possibly no longer ex) raised one eyebrow yet again. "Is that so, _M. Mayor_?"

"Javert -"

A wolfish grin flashed across the other man's features. "Have you yet given your daughter a suitable explanation for my presence and Luc's according absence?" he interrupted Valjean.

"Yes. I told her that Luc had found his family and gone home, with apologies that he could not give her a proper farewell but that he would send her a letter." This statement was punctuated with a meaningful look at Javert. "I told her that the reason for _my_ overnight absence was that I had gotten lost and then bumped into you, an old friend of mine, who had taken me in for the night and then come home with me to meet her."

"Well then." Javert stood up. "I suppose I should meet your daughter, M. Fauchelevent."

"I suppose you should."

* * *

**Enjolras:** Hi! I'm your favorite revolutionary (I hope), here to announce the fact that the Authoress has decided to ditch the original story and give all the remaining chapters to me and my epic cause!

**A3:** (Leans over the barricade and shoves him) You WISH, pretty-boy. You're just sick of being stuck in the kitchen.

**Enjolras:** I am NOT! I'm fighting for my FREEDOM here!

**Courfeyrac:** Freedom schmeedom, let's face it. You're fighting for your very LIFE.

**Enjolras:** And that is all Combeferre's fault.

**Combeferre:** I CANNOT HELP THAT THE BIOLOGICAL WARFARE BACKFIRED!

**Bahorel:** And now, if one was to quote Joly, "It's infected all the other foodstuffs in our immediate area and we are all going to die." In all honesty, only the Authoress, Courfeyrac, and their breakfast cereal are safe. Which is why I'm ditching you all and going to hang out with them.

**Enjolras:** TRAITOR!!

**Bahorel:** No, my dear boy - I'm a survivor.

**A3:** (Snaps her fingers and the song "Survivor" by Destiny's Child starts playing in the background) I would like to take this moment to point out that I know mold doesn't actually really spread and infect all the food in the kitchen.

**Joly:** BUT IT HAS!

**A3:** I know. It's called "comic relief," my dear hypochondriac.

**Enjolras:** (Rage) I HATE YOU!

**Courfeyrac:** Well, that was random.

**Combeferre:** Deep breaths, Enjolras, deep breaths.

**A3:** Okay, so guess what? Since Bahorel has decided to join the ranks of the Forces Opposing Enjolras's Pathetic Attempt at Revolt -

**Enjolras:** HEY!!!

**A3:** - also known as FOEPAR -

**Enjolras:** (Flings kitchen utensils)

**A3:** (Ducks) - then he gets to do the customary end-of-chapter plea for reviews!

**Bahorel:** BOOYEAH! Give us reviews and we'll love you foreverz.

**A3:** Us?

**Courfeyrac:** Well, yeah, I mean, you're not doing this thing alone now! You've got me and him on your side! Oh yes! We are a TEAM!

**Enjolras:** (Screaming, on verge of tears) TRAITORS!!!!!!!!!!!!

**A3:** You kinda brought this on yourself, Enjolras. As it is, you have very little food, an admittedly never-ending supply of water (kitchen sink), and JOLY! STOP PLAYING WITH THE ICE DISPENSER ON THE FRIDGE! (Cough) As I was saying... give it up, Enj. Admit defeat.

**Enjolras:** I. Would. Rather. DIE.

**A3:** Well, I'm not going to kill you. Your fans would annihilate me. Therefore, you're going to be there for quite some time. And if you do start dying of hunger, well, I guess I'll just have to come in there and rescue you...

**Enjolras:** NO! NO! AGH! I HATE YOU!

**A3:** So I've heard.

**Bahorel:** Please give us reviews. We need them. To cope.

**A3:** I would also like you the readers to know that I'm already working on the next chapter (Javert's house! Woo!), so hopefully you won't have to wait too terribly long for that one AT ALL. Thank you, and good day.

**Enjolras:** (Hurls moldy loaf of bread) ENEMIES!

**A3+Bahorel+Courfeyrac+The Usually Tolerant Combeferre:** SHUT UP.


	15. Javert's House

**Authoressial Note of Fairly Minor Importance:** YO! Check it OUT! A new chapter of RISTI, up in time for INDEPENDENCE DAY! Whoo! (Waves American flag) How coolbeans is THAT?! (Cough) So... yeah. I'm proud of myself. ^_^ It's kind of short, but I've finally got an idea of where the story is going, so chapters updates will (we hope and pray) be quicker in the future. BOOYEAHZ! (Goes off to sing the national anthem and watch fireworks)

**Disclaimer:** ANTOINE IS MINE! (Huggles him protectively) Sadly, nothing else is (except the plot), but at least I have... well, read the chapter and find out. :P

* * *

"Javert. Oh, _Javert_."

"Don't make pitying noises," I snapped, closing my front door sharply behind me. "All I do here is sleep, anyway. Or rather, all I _did_."

"Then where did you _eat_?"

"I ate out," I muttered. "At cafés."

"_Can you even cook_?!" I didn't think Valjean's voice could get that shrill unless he was in his 10-year-old body.

"Of course I can cook," I snapped. "There was a time when I didn't have enough money to eat out all the time. But that time passed a while ago. Eating out simply became more convenient. I had no time to cook when I got home."

"How much sleep did you get per night?" Valjean demanded. "At least 8 hours is considered the healthy norm…"

I thought for a moment as I looked the room over, making sure that nothing had been disturbed. "On a busy day?" Which most all of them were. "Three. Maybe four."

I heard a crashing sound and looked over my shoulder to see that Valjean had fallen over.

"_ARE YOU QUITE SERIOUS?_"

"Yes. Quite. You are of course aware that Cosette will kill me if you get hurt here."

Valjean managed to get to my couch without becoming a victim of gravity once again. "Javert, that's _not healthy_."

I frowned. "Perhaps not, but it was enough. Any more and I would have fallen behind on my work -"

"No wonder you were always in such a bad mood, you were running on terminal sleep deprivation," Valjean went on, ignoring me. "Had I known, I might have pitied you."

I rolled my eyes and went into my bedroom. It was dark, as was the rest of my house – I lived in a basement apartment, which was probably why Valjean was so appalled. Reaching out for the matches on the table by the door, I lit a candle and moved over to my wardrobe.

"Javert? Are you alright?" Valjean stepped into my room after me. "Goodness, this is where you sleep?"

"Yes. That _is_ why it's called a _bed_room."

"There's nothing IN here!"

"Nonsense. Table, bed, wardrobe." I gestured to each in turn. "What more do you need in a bedroom?"

"Well… a desk, perhaps?"

"What for? I have no one to whom I might write letters. I never take any paperwork home with me. In short, I have no use for a desk." I paused. "Speaking of letters, I may need you to write a letter to the police tomorrow containing Arnaud's whispered confession. If you and Cosette's testimony against him doesn't send him to the galleys, that will." Having said that, I opened my wardrobe and began to remove articles of clothing, laying them down on the bed behind me. Each one, I was pleased to see, was in the same immaculately pressed and folded state of being in which I had left it. However, as I turned back for more clothes, an entirely unfamiliar sound caused me to freeze in place, one hand up in a gesture that demanded silence.

Valjean obviously recognized said gesture, because he fell silent mere seconds later. I waited for the noise to come again – and it did. A sort of scuffling sound, followed by a whimper.

_And it was coming from underneath my bed_.

"Hold still," I snapped at Valjean as I turned around, dropped to my knees, and lunged under the bed. I grabbed my target on the first try; however, it was not some sneaky _gamin_, like I thought it might have been. It was small, barely larger than both of my hands combined; it was furry, and –

"RRGH!"

- it had just bitten me. Very hard.

My expression set into a determined snarl as I tightened my grip around the creature, disregarding the pain in my hand in my effort to drag it out from its hiding place. It was putting up a rather good struggle, but I was considerably stronger than it was, and accordingly it wasn't long before I pulled it out and stood up.

What I held in my hand by the collar around its neck was an undersized puppy with messy black fur and bright blue eyes. It was still kicking and squirming, baring its white teeth and snapping at my fingers. I glared at it and shook it.

"Stop that. _Bad dog_."

To my surprise, it stopped. It did give me an impudent look, though, shaking its head so that one ear flipped backwards and inside-out. With a chuckle, Valjean reached forward and flipped the ear back down.

"What a cute puppy! And it's a boy, too. It has a collar, so it must belong to some – JAVERT! You're _bleeding_!"

"No, really?" I demanded sarcastically. Rivulets of blood were trickling from the bite marks on my hand and down my arm, staining the sleeve of Valjean's shirt (I had not yet had the opportunity to change into my own clothing). "I hadn't noticed."

The puppy wriggled in my grip. I glowered at it again and passed the dog off to Valjean.

"Here, hold this. I'm going to go find some bandages."

I had a stock of basic medical supplies in the other room; a precaution against the type of injuries that one expects to get when one is dealing with dangerous criminals all day. I had treated myself for bites before (it's surprising how desperate some weaponless people get); I was almost done treating my hand when Valjean came in, cradling the puppy in his arms. It seemed to be asleep.

"Javert," he said in hushed tones, confirming my suspicions, "the puppy has a name on his collar. See?"

I peered at the animal's collar through the very dim lighting and ruffled fur. It was bright red, and elaborate white embroidery spelled out the following name in capital letters: ANTOINE.

"Strange name for a dog," I said, finishing with my hand and putting the medical supplies away. "What are we going to do with it? We can't leave it here."

"It's a _he_," Valjean said insistently. "His name is Antoine, and, well… I was kind of thinking that we could… take him home with us."

A vein somewhere just above my left eyebrow throbbed. "_Valjean_."

"Why the angry tone of voice? What's _wrong_ with him?"

"It's a _dog_. Dogs are _trouble_. They are _unruly_, and _ill-behaved_, and -"

"You don't like dogs?"

"You wouldn't either if you had had as many encounters as I have with vicious killer attack mongrels of _death_," I growled. "Dogs can be on the wrong side of the law as well as humans, Valjean, believe me."

The puppy interrupted our conversation by emitting a quiet "yip" and twitching its paws in its sleep. Valjean looked down at it and cooed. Yes. _Cooed_.

"Aww, isn't he _adorable_? Come on, Javert." He looked at me pleadingly. I can't imagine how I missed it over the years, but Jean Valjean has a _very_ good pleading look. "He won't turn out to be an unruly criminal beast if _you_ train him…"

That vein was throbbing again. "NO."

"Oh, please! Cosette would love him!" As if on cue, the puppy yipped again and _yawned_. Valjean smiled and laughed softly. Had he been one of those abominable schoolgirls whose adorations I had been forced to suffer for an entire _day_, I'm sure that he would have giggled.

"He's so _cuuuute_."

I restrained myself from gagging and closed my eyes. "_Val_ -"

"And look at the size of his _paws_! He's going to grow up to be a big dog! Aren't you?" he cooed (AGAIN). "I bet with the inspector training you, you'll be the best guard dog ever!" His voice took on an unidentifiable quality. "And then I wouldn't have to _worry_ about leaving Cosette alone anymore, because she'd have a _big, strong, police-trained_ _guard dog_ to take care of her!" He sighed, mournfully, accompanied by a whine from the sleeping puppy. "But I suppose… if Javert is afraid of dogs…"

My uninjured fist clenched tightly, and I spat through clenched teeth, "_I. Am not. Afraid. Of dogs_."

"But surely that's the only reason that you would deprive Cosette of her potential protector -"

"Valjean, _shut up_. Guilt trips won't work on me. We can keep the dog," I snapped as he opened his mouth, "but only because it's been some time since I've trained one and I need the practice. And _you_ are going to feed it and clean up after it. Is that clear?"

Valjean beamed. "Perfectly," he said, and the amount of triumph in his voice made me realize with a rapidly sinking feeling that I'd been _conned_ into this. The feeling intensified when the puppy yapped and wagged its tail furiously. That was the first time I realized that it was smarter than the average dog.

"I – you – dog – CONVICT!" I raged, unable to think of his number in my fury.

Valjean ruffled the puppy's ears. "You _do_ pick up a few things when you live with hardened criminals for 19 years," he said cheerfully. "Now come along. I want to show Cosette her new pet!"

I resisted the violent urge to punch a hole through the nearest wall and instead went to change and gather my clothing. As I did so, a smirk twisted my lips.

"Two can play at this game, Valjean," I murmured humorlessly. "I didn't _just_ teach dogs to attack and defend, you know…"

* * *

**A3:** (Coughs authoritatively, gaining silence) AHEM! Hear ye, hear ye. I the Almost-Almighty Authoress would like to point out (again) that this chapter was posted on July 4th - INDEPENDENCE DAY!!

**Enjolras:** _How ironic._

**A3:** Shut up, you, I'm monologuing. Secondly, I want everyone to know that Kiddie!Javert is NOT gone forever! HE SHALL RETURN! Hmm, what else... ah! I would like to inform y'all the readers that THE PLOT LIIIIVES!! YES! So I finally know where I'm going from here! ...In other words, don't despair. This thing DOES have a plot and will not go on indefinitely (for those of you who might have been worrying about that). I foresee... 5 to 6 more chapters.

**Enjolras:** Pah! I'll be FREE before then and the readers shall see your DOWNFALL!

**A3:** Enjy-boy...

**Enjolras:** (Sullen) WHAT.

**A3:** (Grin) Silence is golden - but ducttape is silver.

**Enjolras:** MMPH MRF MMMMMH!

**A3:** I can't believe I didn't think of that sooner. Moving on, one of my lovely reviewers made a special character-appearance request! I would like to thank Juniperwing for reminding me of the existence of both Gavroche and Grantaire!  
**  
Enjolras:** (Ripping noise) OW! You mean someone was actually INTERESTED in the existence of the winecask?!

**A3:** Oh yes. I'll have you know he's quite popular.

**Enjolras:** (Twitch) Inconceivable!!

**A3:** Wrong fandom, dahling.

**Grantaire:** Yo! Did the Apollo say my nickname?

**Enjolras:** YOU! ARGH! Defect to her side! Defect I say! DEFEEEECT!

**Grantaire:** And why would I do that? I'm on your side all the way, Apollo!

**Enjolras:** (Twitch) Don't remind me.

**Gavroche:** Oi, Authoress lady! I found wot you were lookin' for in the pantry!

**A3:** AWESOME! Bring them to me, little dude. Soon we will have Jeh- (hackcoughchoke) I-I mean, ONE MORE of their numbers in our clutches!

**Enjolras:** YOU BRAT! YOU STOLE OUR CUTE MASCOT!

**A3:** The "cute mascot" likes me _better_ than you. Wanna know why? _I_ give him _weaponry.  
_**  
All Amis:** O.o

**A3:** NOT REAL WEAPONS! Airsoft. Which, for disclaimer purposes, I don't own. Show 'em what you got, Gavvie!

**Gavroche:** Check it! A fully automatic Airsoft gun! (Aims at Enjolras)

**A3:** (Thwacks him on the head) Gav, what did I tell you? NO SHOOTING PEOPLE. Now go outside and practice on those targets I set up for you in the backyard.

**Gavroche:** (Perks up) Dogs?

**A3:** _NO_!!!

**Grantaire:** I want something alcoholic. Heeeey, what's this? Spiced rum??

**A3:** YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT! It's my dad's!! For _holidays_!

**Enjolras:** Aha! A chance to sober the winecask! (Snatches all alcoholic drinks and flings them over to the other side of the barricade) FEAR ME! For I am awesome!

**A3:** Well, THAT was just a smidge OOC.

**Grantaire:** Yo, Authoress-lady. Are you going to drink that?

**A3:** (Holds up spiced rum) Uhh... no. I'm underage.

**Grantaire:** (Lights up) Can I 'ave it?

**A3:** No. I don't support alcoholism, loveable character though you may be.

**Grantaire:** Loveable? Ha! NOBODY LOVES ME! (Goes off to sulk in a corner)

**Enjolras:** Darn right.

**A3:** Oh well. Too bad. I thought I could get him over to my side. BUT, at least we'll have JEHAN soon enough! MUAHAHAHA!

**Enjolras:** Say what now??! NO! I WON'T LET YOU KEEP STEALING MY MANPOWER! Combeferre! REINFORCE THE BARRICADES!!

**A3:** Oh, bother. I didn't quite mean to say my super-secret plan aloud like that. ...Bahorel, Courfeyrac, you've had no lines so far. Wanna beg for reviews?

**Bahorel+Courfeyrac:** YES!!!

**Bahorel:** We thought you'd never ask.

**Courfeyrac:** Give us reviews! Please!

**Bahorel:** Or we'll die.

**A3:** (Kicks him) You will not. Sissy. In a final note, I would like to state the fact that I know these Ending Authoressial Notes are getting INSANELY long. For this fact I apologize. They get... kind of outta control. I'll try to make them shorter in the future.

**Courfeyrac:** (Bambi eyes) Review a revolutionary!

**Bahorel:** Stop that. It's sickening.

**Courfeyrac:** Oh yeah??! Well, well, YOU'RE sickening!!

**A3:** Okay, I'm ending this RIGHT NOW. (Screen fizzes)


	16. Walking the Dog

**Authoressial Note:** HI!!!! Due to copious amounts of protestation from my beloved reviewers, I won't be shortening the Ending Authoressial Notes (and the abbreviation for that is EAN, remember). I was afraid that they detracted from the original story, since they're kind of developing a plot of their own, but nobody ELSE seems to think that, which makes me happy. :) So... HERE IT IS! Chapter 16 of RISTI! Fear mah lightning-fast update skillz. Oh yeah, and this may actually be the longest chapter yet at 9 WHOLE PAGES. Oh yeah. Do a happy dance with me! ...Or not.

**Disclaimer:** Aw, come on, you should know what I own and what I don't by now! But just in case... (Shifty eyes) Anything that you may recognize from the book and/or musical IS NOT MINE. Everything else, however, IS. So there!

* * *

Ex-inspector Luc Javert woke up shortly prior to the rest of the Fauchelevent household and spent about five seconds staring up at the ceiling before he rolled over to find Antoine sitting on the floor by the couch right next to his head, _staring_ at him. The dog – which was incredibly smart for its relatively young age – did this every morning. At first, it had been rather disconcerting, but Javert had grown to find it somewhat endearing.

Not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

A devious smile curled up the corners of his lips as a thought struck him. Catching Antoine's eye, he pointed towards the stairs.

"Hey, dog." Though he would occasionally call Antoine by his name, he refused to admit that the animal had a gender – mostly to annoy Valjean – and would not under ANY circumstances whatsoever refer to him as "cutie-pie," "snugglyboo," or any of the other sickening pet names that the ex-con, his daughter, and even the maid called him.

"Yes, you," Javert said as Antoine tilted his head to one side. "I have a job for you."

He never talked to the puppy like this around other people, but it was his personal belief that Antoine could understand him. It was _that_ intelligent.

"Go find Valjean!"

With a yip, Antoine took off, skittering across the hardwood floors and bouncing up the stairs one at a time with an enthusiasm that only a puppy could have. Javert sat up and ran a hand through his hair, some of which had freed itself from his ponytail overnight and was falling in his face. The smirk remained on his lips.

"Wait for it…"

Jean Valjean's reaction to a puppy hurling itself bodily onto his face was precisely what Javert had expected. Though he couldn't see what was going on, the sound effects (a startled yell and a thud) were indicative of Valjean waking up in alarm and falling off his bed. Javert allowed himself a snicker before standing up and heading into the kitchen to make coffee, ignoring the deep laughter that came from upstairs as Antoine decided that Valjean's face needed cleaning.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Cosette swept into the kitchen and stopped with a gasp of surprise upon seeing that the ex-inspector, his hair in a once-more presentable state and his clothing the epitome of immaculate, was in the middle of making breakfast.

The ever-propriety-minded young woman nearly had a heart attack.

"M. JAVERT!" He had decided to drop the "inspector," as it jeopardized his attempt to be low-profile. "What on _earth_ do you think you're _doing_?"

Javert blinked at her. "Making breakfast. And there's coffee," he added, but didn't get any further than that before Cosette rushed across the room and shoved him bodily aside.

"NO! You are a _guest_ in our home, monsieur, and _guests_ do _not_ MAKE BREAKFAST. Today is Tia's day off, and that means that it's up to _me_ to take care of the house – _and_ you. Now sit!" She pointed at the table.

"But mademoiselle, it is unacceptable of me to simply sit around doing what I like and taking up space. At least let me set the -"

Cosette brandished a spatula in his face. "SIT."

"Yes'm." He sat.

When Valjean entered the kitchen with Antoine nestled safely in his arms, it was to see Javert sitting at the kitchen table and meekly sipping at a cup of coffee while Cosette lectured him thoroughly on his "unacceptable behavior."

"I mean, _really_! The doors are _always_ tightly locked when I go to bed, _every single one of them_! That is NOT a guest's responsibility! And the night before last, you tried to wash the dishes! If Father hadn't been there I swear I would have thrown something at you – are you _trying_ to replace me?"

Obviously this was a rhetorical question, because before Javert could answer in the negative, she continued on in the same vein, this time going on about the total lack of weeds in the garden and the fact that he had taken it upon himself to fix the broken front-gate lock when they could have hired a perfectly good locksmith to do that, or simply just replaced it. Valjean fought to keep from bursting out into hysterical laughter, but even so, his body was shaking as he leaned against the doorframe. It was certainly an effort. The fact that his daughter was taking to task the same man who had hunted him ruthlessly for years made it even harder.

Finally, he got himself under control and strolled into the kitchen. "Good morning, Javert. Hello, my dear."

"Father!" Cosette cried. "Thank goodness. Have a word with your friend – do you _know_ what he was doing when I came down this morning? He was – _SIT. DOWN._"

The ex-inspector didn't even want to know why she needed a knife that big for making scrambled eggs and sausage. But experience had taught him that while angry, armed women were easily dealt with, they could still be quite dangerous, especially if they were desperate criminals. He had a rather garish scar across his collarbone to prove it. Not that Cosette was a desperate criminal, but _still_.

Having thus put Javert back in his place, Cosette turned to Valjean – or rather, the puppy in his arms. "Aww, look at Antoine! He's drooling." And he was, all over the sleeve of Valjean's shirt. "Poor thing, you must be starving, huh?"

Javert felt relatively certain that it was not healthy to feed the dog all the things that the Fauchelevents fed it. He had at least set them straight when they tried to feed it a chicken leg the other day, informing them sharply that they if they wanted to kill Antoine they were going about it quite the right way. However, the dog still dined like royalty on everything from mashed potatoes to the scrambled eggs that Cosette was now spooning into his food bowl.

"Here you are, M. Javert!" Cosette placed a plate in front of the ex-inspector. He eyed it with suspicion, not entirely certain that she hadn't infused it with a mild poison in order to get back at him for daring to be helpful. "I hope you enjoy it in _peace_ and _leisure_."

In other words, _If you try to clean up after yourself when you're done I WILL KILL YOU._

It was beyond Javert how she could have grown up with this kind, philanthropic version of Valjean and still ended up so alarmingly _dangerous_.

After breakfast, Cosette busied herself with cleaning the dishes (she had jumped upon Javert's plate as soon as he finished the last bite), while Valjean went upstairs to write some letters. Feeling left out and bored, Javert abducted Antoine from the kitchen where Cosette was dishing uneaten food scraps into his bowl and carted him out into the garden to practice something that he suspected Valjean would highly disapprove of if he caught them.

"Which is why," he explained to the dog, "we're doing this in secret. Now. ATTACK!"

Antoine was surprisingly agreeable when it came to leaping through the air and fixing his little teeth onto Javert's arm, which was heavily wrapped in bandages for protection. He was even more so when Javert knelt on the ground and went about teaching the guard-dog-in-training how to go for an enemy's throat.

Unfortunately, on the fifteenth repetition of the throat drill, Valjean decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. And people generally react with intense alarm when they see another human being lying on the ground with a snarling (if pocket-sized) dog attached to their throat.

"JAVERT!! Good gracious, man, what in the name of sanity are you _doing_?!"

Javert sat up and let Antoine cower behind him. "You're scaring it."

"_Me_??! YOU'RE the one who was letting it – him – go for your throat!"

Javert motioned to his neck. "Bandages, Va – Fauchelevent." It was necessary to use the ex-convict's alias when there was a danger that Cosette might overhear them. "He can't get through them. Not with those puny little teeth of his." Antoine bit his hand. "And needle-sharp. Dog. Do you _want_ to take a bath?"

The instant removal of Antoine's teeth from his hand suggested otherwise.

"That's what I thought."

"_What_ are you _doing_?" Valjean repeated. Javert stood up; Antoine jumped forward and decided to take an impromptu nap on top of his foot.

"I am training it to be a guard dog. You can't be home _all_ the time, Fauchelevent - and when you're not, big grown-up Antoine will be here to protect your precious daughter."

"But something could go _wrong_," Valjean insisted. "I mean – the bandages could slip, the dog could get distracted and bite your nose off…"

Javert stifled a sudden snort of laughter. "If it makes you feel any better, I've had dogs ten times his size doing their best to try and rip my arm off. I've done this before, Fauchelevent. I have _experience_. I wouldn't suggest that _you_ let him have a go at your throat, but don't worry about me. I'll be quite fine, thank you."

Valjean sighed. "…If you say so. I still think it's a bad idea, but I suppose in the long run, it's _your_ neck, not mine."

"That's the spirit. Now why are you out here?"

"Well, honestly, I came to find you. I was wondering if you might like to take Antoine for a walk."

Javert raised an eyebrow. "_Now_?"

"Um… yes. I mean, I _realize_ that it's daytime, and I know you don't want to be recognized… but a disguise…"

"What kind of disguise?"

Valjean brightened visibly, pleased that his suggestion was going over well. "We'd only need to rid you of some of your most distinctive features. We could cut your hair – oh, and those sideburns… er…" He faltered as Javert pinned him with a glare that had sent lesser men fleeing for their lives.

"Leave. Now. Before I take the first step down a criminal path and _kill you_."

The older man stepped backwards but didn't give up so easily. "Really, Javert, they'll _grow back_! I mean, it's only _hair_ -" He broke off and escaped into the house, slamming the door behind him as Javert approached with murderous intent.

The former inspector stopped short and smirked down at a disgruntled Antoine, who had been rudely awoken when the foot he had chosen to nap on suddenly moved. "I've still got it, dog."

Antoine yawned and flopped over on his side near a rosebush.

**.-.****Javert's POV****.-.**

It was late in the evening when Valjean and I finally took the dog for a walk – not so dark out that we couldn't see, but neither too early for me to duck into convenient shadows if I saw someone who might recognize me. The street was surprisingly busy considering the time, and I instantly went on the alert, my police officer instincts coming into play as I automatically scanned the area for suspicious or criminal activity.

I was distracted, however, when Antoine tugged rather hard on the leash, obviously intent on going somewhere. I did not let him drag me along, but I permitted him relatively free reign, following the dog through the streets as Valjean tagged along after us.

We took a somewhat winding route and ultimately ended up at a small and infrequently visited park. Despite not being popular, the place was still excellently manicured. I nodded in approval as I viewed it, being fond of such order in a wildly disorganized world. I did not have long to appreciate it, however, for the puppy let out a sharp yap and charged forward. Caught off guard, I followed the sharp yank on the leash and staggered after the animal.

Mere seconds later, I had regained control, but Antoine was still straining on the leash. Valjean came up and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Javert, I think we should head back home now. This isn't a particularly safe place to be, especially not at this hour…"

I was about to respond that he was right – after all, why should I cater to the whims of a puppy? – when a cry rang out through the growing darkness.

"No! Stop! Leave me be! Please! I-I'll give you whatever you want, just _stop_!"

Antoine instantly set up a frenzy of hysterical barking. I snarled at it to be quiet; when it persisted in setting up a ruckus, I handed the leash off to Valjean and took off through the park in the direction from whence the unfamiliar voice had come.

"Javert, _wait_! It might be dangerous!"

Ignoring the ex-convict's cries, I rounded a small copse of trees and came upon a scene not unfamiliar to my eyes. A man, nobly dressed and obviously quite well off, was cringing in fear before a group of four thugs. I couldn't make out any of their facial features, but it didn't matter; they were still threatening an innocent civilian, and one of the upper class at that. It was my duty to see justice done.

"Leave him," I snapped. "I'm a more interesting prospect."

Three of them turned to face me, while one continued to keep an eye on their previous victim. "Aye, tha' you are," grunted the biggest one. I instantly marked him as the leader. In the criminal world, your size can very well determine your place in "the pack."

I cast his cryptic statement aside and continued distracting them. "I am a former police inspector, supposed dead for some time now. Were you to take me instead of him and make the fact of my existence public, you would be paid well to return me to my superiors." Which was probably true. I had made it my personal goal to be the best, and I had certainly met, if not exceeded, that goal.

"Nah, tha's alrigh'," said the big one. "We know someone else who'd pay us _a lot more_ for yer safe return…"

My brow furrowed. There was something familiar about the man's voice – about the way he talked, the way he mutilated words… and he seemed to recognize me. A cold prickle ran down my spine.

"_Drat_," I mumbled unintelligibly – or perhaps not.

"What did you say, Javert?"

All four of the criminals took an unconscious step back at Valjean's sudden appearance. I glanced at him and for the first time noticed with no little annoyance that he was taller than me, even when I was in my proper adult body. My eyes widened somewhat as I took in the dark expression stamped across his features. The man looked ready to kill.

And he _wonders_ why I thought he was so much more dangerous than just a simple food thief.

The intimidation factor was taken down a notch by the fact that the dog straining on its leash and snarling viciously at the four thugs was barely the size of a proper soup bowl. However, they didn't seem bothered by the dog – just Valjean. And the stick the width of my head that he was holding effortlessly in his left hand.

"Gentlemen. It seems rather late to be out and about."

"Er," said the biggest one. His fist strayed towards a pocket of the coat he was wearing; he snatched it away when I made a similar movement. I had no weapons on me of which to speak, but _he_ didn't know that. Nor, frankly, did he need to.

"Yeah, yer right," he muttered, taking a step back. "Let's go then, aye?"

"Ahhh, _come on_," drawled the criminal who had hung back to keep an eye on the civilian. "We can take 'em like _that_," his laid-back statement being accompanied by a sharp snap of his fingers.

"JEREMY, SHUT UP AN' MOVE!" the leader roared. I went completely stiff.

"Javert, are you alright?" Valjean murmured worriedly as they left. "You seem rather tense."

"That… was…" I began slowly in a choked voice, but before I could finish, the man whom the four thugs had been harassing came up and offered me his hand.

"Thank you, sir," he said gravely. "I desperately appreciate your assistance. Some weeks ago, I might have remained silent and permitted them to do what they would to me, but I have recently acquired reason to continue living, and so once again I thank you."

This statement, of course, brought out Valjean's worried-philanthropist side in a flash. "I apologize if I'm being insensitive, sir, but might I inquire after details?"

The man smiled. He was handsome, with close-cropped dark brown hair that was streaked with gray and the pale skin of someone who spends ninety percent of their time indoors.

"But of course. Let us go sit on that bench, over there, and I will tell you my story."

I followed them over, noting with vague interest that Antoine had ceased his snarling and was showing a surprising amount of affection for the strange man, curling up on his feet as he sat down. I chose not to sit, instead remaining on my feet and leaning my back against a nearby tree. It was almost completely dark outside, and consequently I was engulfed in shadows, but I didn't mind. They wouldn't notice me that way, and neither would any other nasty "stalkers of the night" that might take an interest in them, therefore giving me the element of surprise.

I had fully intended to ignore the man and concentrate on the epiphany I had had mere moments ago; however, I got distracted and ended up listening anyway.

"My name is Friedrich Rousseau. I had a son, Antoine Rousseau, but he is… no longer with us. Some time ago he ran away from home, and that was shortly followed by reports of the discovery of the completely unrecognizable body of a young boy. I was brought in to identify it. I would not have been able to had it not been for the fact that around its neck was a charm that I had given him for his seventh birthday."

He sighed, and there was a brief pause before he continued. During the pause, Antoine (the dog) let out a mournful whimper.

"Now, this may sound very strange, but shortly after I identified Antoine's body, a very mysterious man who would not permit me to see his face came up to me in the cemetery, and told me that while he could not return my son to me, he could replace him – replace him with a boy the same age and the same height, with perfect health and no obvious blemishes. And he said he could do all of this easily, for a price. Of course I scorned the idea at first, but he was always there, every time I visited Antoine's grave, and one day I was feeling such a deep sense of loss that I simply agreed to it. Anything had to be better than this atrocious emptiness that was slowly eating away at my life."

He smiled – I could barely see it through the darkness. "Like I said, it sounds _very_ strange. But, I spoke to him recently, and he says that soon now, very soon, I shall have Antoine's replacement – and he even has the same name. Gentlemen, _that_ is the reason I am so happy that you saved me, because I have a chance – another chance, a _second_ chance, a chance to once again raise a son and, I hope, not ruin him like I so obviously did my first child."

I blinked. The man was obviously well-intentioned, and quite pleased with his decision, but…

"Didn't you find this a little _suspicious_?" I demanded. "I mean, how did he know your son was dead?"

The man cast me a derisive look. "I am a well-known member of nobility, sir. As soon as I had identified his body, every paper in the country made the fact public."

"But -" I began, but the man stood up abruptly, causing the puppy to fall off his feet with an alarmed yip.

"Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must be getting home. It is late, and I still have many preparations to make before the arrival of my new son." And with that, he was gone.

We were almost home when Valjean decided to vent his feelings. "_What kind of a man is he?!?_ If I lost my Cosette, no child in the world would EVER be able to replace her! _Not a one_!"

I chose not to answer, instead following him and Antoine inside and then locking the door quite firmly behind me. I knew that man from earlier – that thug. It was one of the men who had chased me to Valjean's house shortly after this whole thing began, the same man I had exchanged words with in the alley before Valjean and I were abducted, the same man who seemed to function as the faceless lunatic's figurative right hand. I wished I knew his name. I wished I knew _all_ of their names. I intensely disliked dealing with anonymous people. It only made them more suspicious in my eyes.

"Javert," Valjean said, coming out of the kitchen where Cosette had apparently been waiting up for us. "That man, and his story – do you think they're connected to you in some way? To that man who turned you into a young boy?"

"Really, Valjean, what do _you_ think?" I demanded. "The answer is a painfully obvious _yes_, and I'm supposed to be this 'new son' he's so excited about."

"Are you going to let it happen?" Valjean sounded amused.

"Over my dead body. Let's lock the windows."

"Mm-hmm."

In retrospect, I should have _known_ rather than merely _suspected_ that we were followed. It was simply too obvious. I would blame tiredness or the fact that I was thinking about other, more important things, but in all honesty there was no excuse for it whatsoever. I practically _asked_ for what later followed as a direct result of my carelessness. There is no one to blame but myself.

I was still bitter about it, though.

**.-.****3****rd****-Person POV****.-.**

"We followed 'im 'ome, boss. We know where 'e lives."

"_Eeeeeexcellent_." The whisper, long and drawn-out, sent chills down Moe's spine. "Leave him be for now, but watch him constantly. Soon, oh yes, soon enough, I _personally_ will come to fetch him."

"Right-o. I'll put Jeremy an' 'is connections on tha', 'e's good a' -"

"For goodness' sakes, _I don't care how you do it_! Just GET IT DONE! Now." There was a slight chinking sound as the mentally unstable criminal mastermind picked something up. Moe recognized this as a bad sign and, accordingly, turned and fled to his superior's shout of "GET OUT!!!"

The crystal wine glass hit the door as it slammed behind him, shattering into zillions of invisible fragments that fell to the floor with a barely audible tinkling sound. The villain snarled, clutching the arm of his chair as he thought about the work that cleaning the mess up would entail. Barely five seconds later, he relaxed considerably and a smile curved his lips as he thought about how truly brilliantly everything was now going.

"It's all according to plan," he singsonged, standing up and prancing across the room. "It's-all-going-my-way, what-a-wonderful-day, what-a-stupendous-way-to-get-what-I-want!" He flung the door open and was assaulted by bright daytime light. "YAUGH!!!" He slammed it shut and staggered backwards. "My eyes – MY EYES!"

He made his way back to his chair and curled his legs up underneath himself, proceeding to stare through the inky blackness that filled the windowless room and _plot_.

* * *

**A3:** ZOMGOSH YOU GUYS GUESS WHAT??!???!!!

**All Amis:** (Eye with nervousness) ...What?

**A3:** This story, RISTI, is only a _few days_ over being a WHOLE YEAR OLD!!! EEK!

**Courfeyrac:** Well, this is hardly a reason to break out the confetti and party balloons...

**A3:** Good idea Courfey! And heck, we could even have small glasses of wine for people who happen to be of-age.

**Grantaire:** (Has been suffering from withdrawal) WINE!!! But... b-but... noooo. Must - stay - with - APOLLO! (Scuttles off to a corner)

**Enjolras:** Drat. SAYYYY, doesn't this _also_ mean that you have been TORMENTING ME for a little over ONE WHOLE YEAR??!

**A3:** ...Yes, yes, I suppose so. It would mean that. Hm. But take heart, my friend!

**Enjolras:** I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND!!!

**A3:** (Ignoring him) At least _this_ revolution is lasting much longer than your last one. That one only lasted like, what, three days total or something?

**Enjolras:** (Sulky) Shut up.

**A3:** No. Hey, Gavroche.  
**  
Gavroche:** Oi guv?

**A3:** Where are those things I sent you to get in the last EAN?

**Gavroche:** Right 'ere, guv!

**A3:** FANTABULOUS! Say, Jehaaaa-a-a-an!

**Enjolras:** (Panics) NO!!! Combeferre, cover his ears! COVER HIS EARS!

**Combeferre:** (Obliges with a pair of potholders)

**Jehan:** Hey! What's going on? Why are you - ooh, what are those?

**A3:** These, my dear dreamy-eyed boy, are marshmallows. They are a light, fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth substance (though, regrettably, not so much so as cotton candy) which people all over the world go NUTS for. And I bet you'd adore them.  
**  
Jehan:** (Wide-eyed amazement) Marsh...mallows...

**A3:** And look! They come in all different colors, too.

**Enjolras:** COVER HIS EYES!!!

**Combeferre:** Too late.

**Jehan:** PURPLE! Purple is my favorite color! (Scrambles across the barricade) May I please have some??!

**A3:** Of course! Just don't eat too many at once or you'll get sick. And share with Gavvie, I told him he could have some too. (Smirks at Enjolras)

**Enjolras:** I -

**A3:** Yes, you hate me, we know.

**Enjolras:** YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!! Combeferre, fetch the butcher knives! QUICKLY!

**Jehan:** Hey! I know how you guys can settle this!

**A3+Enjolras:** HOW?

**Jehan:** Well, you could have a cook-off! That way, this could still be classified as "kitchen wars" _and_ you'd be practicing your culinary skills!

**A3:** Ah. Er. Uhm. (Twitches nervously) Cooking… not really… my thing…

**Enjolras:** …I have to go…make miniature flags for us to wave. Uh. Yeah.

**Jehan:** (Pins them both with super-adorable poet Bambi eyes of IRRESISTABILITY) _Pleeeeeeeeeeease?_

**A3:** …Aw darnit, how hard can it be anyway? It's just following a bunch of directions. (Hops over the barricade into the kitchen)

**Enjolras:** Wait a minute… _hops_?? OUR BARRICADE IS NOT THAT LOW!

**A3:** It is now.

**Enjolras:** …_I HATE YOU._

**A3:** No, really?! WHY?

**Courfeyrac:** (Clangs pot lids together) Alright everyone, listen up! _Kitchen Wars: Amis Style_ has taken a sudden turn of events! Now it's a cook-off between the Authoress lady and the great revolutionary leader Enjolras! Their respective teams: Team Tricolor, consisting of Enjolras, Combeferre, Joly, Grantaire, and Feuilly!

**Enjolras:** Wait a second, that doesn't sound right… where did all of my _amis _go??!

**Courfeyrac:** And Team Red, consisting of A3, Bahorel, Gavroche, Courfeyrac, and Jehan!

**Jehan:** W-wait a second, why am I –

**A3:** (Assertively) MARSHMALLOWS.

**Jehan:** Oh right. Sorry, Enjolras.

**Enjolras:** Traitors to the cause are shown no mercy. Remember that, Prouvaire.

**Jehan:** (Whimper)

**Courfeyrac:** The respective teams have 1 hour in which to select their dish and acquire the ingredients, and the rest of the day in which to cook them! Ready, steady, GOOOOOOO!

**A3:** You know, I would really like to make these EANs into its own little series. I mean, really, _Kitchen Wars: Amis Style_ – it sounds like it has so much potential.

**Enjolras:** Heck no. Shut up. Stop thinking.

**A3:** Ah, but if I stopped thinking then I wouldn't be able to win, now would I?

**Enjolras:** YOU WILL NOT WIN! THE POWER OF MY HATRED FOR YOU WILL LEAD ME TO VICTORY!!

**A3:** Anger and hate lead to the Dark Side, young padawan.

**Enjolras:** Combeferre? Knife. NOW.

**A3:** Right then, well, please review and tell me what you thought of the chapter! And if it's not too much trouble, you might pop in a note saying which team you support. I have to go raid some cookbooks now. Oh, by the way, ENJOLRAS! Have you got any idea how to use 21st-century appliances, m'dear boy?

**Enjolras:** ……………A MINOR DETAIL.

**A3:** (Smirk) Riiiiight.


	17. Abduction

**Important Authoressial Note:** I would like to warn all my loyal readers in advance that THIS CHAPTER IS MORTALLY SHORT. It's one page and couple paragraphs (as opposed to a page and a half). But I felt that it needed to stand on its own, and DON'T WORRY, because I've already written Chapter 18 - which is much longer. Once I edit it, I'll get it up here and then start work on Ch. 19 - provided I have time.

(Sigh) Yeahhh, the school season snuck up on me. So now I've got about 5 hours less spare time than I used to have. Once karate and fencing start back, I will have even less. :( But fear not! THIS TALE SHALL SEE ITS END!

The biggest issue with the upcoming chapter (18) is that there are a couple parts where Javert is WAY too OOC, in my opinion. So I'll maul those bits, replace them, and update accordingly. :D

And finally, the EAN is extra-long. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I own zed. Except for the plot, Antoine, and the Nameless, Faceless Psycho. He's all mine. Heh.

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. But despite the thunder and lightning outside, Javert slept soundly on the couch downstairs. The remains of a warm fire were slowly dying down in the hearth across the room.

The time was somewhere around one in the morning. Antoine was sleeping upstairs with Valjean, chiefly because the weather was starting to get colder and a warm, comfortable bed containing a kindly man who was willing to snuggle a freezing puppy was frankly more inviting than a somewhat less comfortable couch containing a less kindly man who had no intentions of snuggling any puppies, however cold they might be. Therefore, the ex-inspector had no means other than his own instinct to warn him about the man who had somehow broken into the house and was now stealing towards him on silent feet.

Almost as soon as the handkerchief touched his face, Javert snapped awake. The painfully sweet smell of chloroform burned his nostrils for a mere second before he promptly ceased to inhale, focusing all his attention on getting the sodden piece of cloth away from himself.

His attacker was much leaner, lighter, and more agile than he was, but Javert possessed more in the way of experience and brute strength. Grabbing the cloth, he ripped it from the stranger's hand and threw it away into the fire, which promptly flared up as a result of the added fuel.

The sudden light served to illuminate the face of his attacker. Much to his irritation and disgust, the man was wearing a mask – a simple black affair that covered most of his face, leaving only his mouth and eyes exposed. And the latter didn't tell Javert much, since they were very nearly the same sable color as the mask.

In an unexpected move, the stranger delivered a high, snapping kick to the side of Javert's head. It hit home – there was a bright flash in front of Javert's eyes, accompanied by a sharp pain, and he was suddenly crouching on the floor, his hand pressed to the injury. However, he did not permit himself to be out of commission for long. Leaping to his feet, he dodged another kick and cast about for some kind of a weapon.

He didn't find one before the stranger pulled another unexpected move, leaping on Javert's back and wrapping his arms around his throat. The ex-inspector absolutely refused to tolerate this and, reaching up, seized one of the man's arms and yanked on it while throwing his top half forward at the same time. This sent the man flying over his head to slam bodily into the ground in front of him.

A violent oath escaped the stranger's lips, it being the first word spoken and, in fact, the first sound made during the entire battle. Javert smirked menacingly.

"Profanity," he informed the man, "is not generally accepted in this household."

"You don't _belong_ in this household," the man snarled, his voice deep and guttural.

"Allow me to be the first person to agree with you, but that still doesn't give you the right to sneak in here at unearthly hours of the morning and attempt to abduct me."

"_Doesn't it_," the man said, and as he did the tone and pitch of his voice changed drastically. Javert's eyes grew wide as he took a step backwards.

"_YOU_!"

"Meeeeee," singsonged the nameless lunatic from days gone past as he pulled out another handkerchief from some hidden pocket of his long coat. However, this one was bundled into a tight little package, and Javert had a horrible feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that he knew exactly what it contained.

"Put. That. Away." His words were very slow and deliberate. The lunatic grinned.

"Pshft. NO."

Footsteps sounded upstairs, there was a small yap, and then Valjean was looking over the balcony with Antoine dancing at his feet. "Javert? Javert, what's -"

Javert didn't hear the last of his inquiry as he lunged at the invader, who dodged the last-ditch attempt at victory with ease, loosing the ribbon that tied the handkerchief-package together as he did so. Sparkling powder exploded out of it, directly above the ex-inspector's head. He was relatively unable to avoid it, since his leaping attack had sent him flying headfirst into the wall. He wasn't unconscious yet, but he was quickly headed that way.

As the first speck of powder landed on him and everything began to quickly go rather black, the last things he heard were maniacal laughter and Valjean's frantic request, accompanied by hysterical barking:

"Javert?! JAVERT! Are you – GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

And then he passed out.

* * *

**Courfeyrac:** THE COOKOFF OF THE CENTURY... DECADE... well, of the WEEK at least, IS FINISHED!! The dishes they have chosen to cook are the following! Team Red (A3, Bahorel, Gavroche, ME, and Jehan) has created a masterpiece of a... of... a... (whisper) _What is it anyway_?!

**A3:** You fail as an announcer, Courfey. (Cough) Obviously going for aesthetic appeal AS WELL as insanely awesome taste, my team chose an elaborate dessert! Dun da dunnn...

**Jehan:** (Whirling out from behind the curtain that has been separating the kitchen in half) TIRAMISU CAKE! Garnished with sliced strawberries and shredded marshmallows!

**A3:** YES! Wait... YOU PUT SHREDDED MARSHMALLOWS ON IT.

**Jehan:** (Cower) Y-yes...

**A3:** AFTER I _EXPRESSLY_ TOLD YOU NOT TO.

**Jehan:** Yes... but... (whimper) _Marshmallows_...

**A3:** Aww, you're adorable, so I'll let you get away with it. (Tousles his hair) Enj, your turn!

**Enjolras:** (Cough cough) AHEM. We, Team Tricolor (myself, Combeferre, Joly, Feuilly, and someone I'd rather not mention), were GOING to choose a traditional French dish that practically _bled_ elegance and culture.

**Courfeyrac:** (Blinks) Buuuuut...?

**Enjolras:** SOMEONE (glowers at Grantaire), SOMEHOW, managed to SUPPOSEDLY INADVERTENTLY set our ingredients ON FIRE.

**A3:** _Ooooh_, so THAT'S what all that panicking over there was.

**Enjolras:** WE WERE NOT PANICKING. WE WERE DEALING WITH THE SITUATION IN A _CALM, CONTROLLED_ MANNER.

**A3:** Yup. And screaming like little girls in the process.

**Enjolras:** YOU--!!!!!!

**Combeferre:** ANYWAY, since our first efforts were thwarted by certain team members' unfamiliarity with gas-powered stoves, we moved on to other things. I suggested a layered vegetable salad, but apparently Joly is _convinced_ that eating carrots will make your skin turn orange -

**Joly:** It happened to me when I was little. Scarred me. For LIFE.

**Combeferre: **...In summary, we made something called Manhattan clam chowder instead.

**A3:** Whoa. Impressive.

**Courfeyrac:** Yeah, that's actually WAY more than I had expected from you guys.

**A3:** That has carrots in it too, you know.

**Feuilly:** No, Joly made us leave the carrots out.

**Grantaire:** I ate them! HAH! Better eyesight for ME!

**A3:** ...O-_kay_. Anyway, moving on to the JUDGING now - Courfeyrac! You're the announcer; YOU judge!

**Courfeyrac:** Alright! I declare the winner to be Team -

**Enjolras:** WAIT A MINUTE!!!  
**  
A3:** (Sigh) _What's wrong now_?!

**Enjolras:** HE'S what's wrong!!

**A3:** You know, I kind of agree with you there...

**Enjolras:** BE QUIET! Now, Courfeyrac MAY be the announcer, but he's also ON YOUR TEAM! Of COURSE he's going to vote for YOU!

**Courfeyrac:** Drat. My master plan has been discovered and thwarted.

**Enjolras:** EXACTLY!!! Now, what WE need is a NON-BIASED JUDGE! Someone who's UNOPINIONATED! Someone who DOESN'T PICK SIDES! Someone, SOMEONE, who will be FAIR and NOT PICK SIDES!

**All:** You said that already.

**Enjolras:** I know! That's because it's IMPORTANT!

**A3:** Alright, _fine_. But Jean Valjean is off the list because he's occupied elsewhere right now.  
**  
Jehan:** What about Marius?

**Courfeyrac:** Nope, wouldn't work. He's too afraid of Enjolras. And anyone who says Cosette is beautiful is automatically on his favorite-person list.

**A3:** ...Well, what about the _readers_?

**Amis:** (Blank stare)

**A3:** They'd be FAIR. They're not BIASED.

**Enjolras:** But they'd vote for the team with their favorite Amis!!!

**A3:** Oh, don't be so critical. I think it's time they had a part in these Kitchen Wars of ours. Don't you agree?

**Enjolras:** But... b-but...

**Combeferre:** I hate to point this out, Enjolras, but what happened to "equality?"

**A3:** YEAH!! What he said.

**Enjolras:** BUT WE MIGHT LOSE!!

**A3:** Oh, just shut up and accept it. HEY, READERS! Instead of reviews (though those are always nice), this time I'm asking you to VOTE! Who do you think should win? Team Red, with its tiramisu cake -

**Courfeyrac:** And charming, _handsome _spokesperson -

**A3:** Not to mention the person with the power to keep updating chapters -

**Enjolras:** HEY! THAT'S LOW! Besides, you already SAID you'd keep updating in the Authoressial note!

**A3:** ...Rats. Well, anyway, Team Red and its tiramisu cake? Or Team Tricolor, with its Manhattan clam chowder?

**Enjolras:** And oppressed members of society who stand for LIBERTY! EQUALITY! And FRATERNITY!

**A3:** The fraternity thing is NOT going to cut it, dude. Most of the people reading this are girls.

**Enjolras:** THANK YOU for ruining my dramatic speech. I don't think I've yet mentioned that I hate you.

**A3:** Oh, shut up and wait for chapter 18 when we tally the votes and find out who wins. UNTIL NEXT TIME!

**Jehan:** (Waves) _Au revoir_!


	18. Treat Them Like Criminals

**IMPORTANT AND APOLOGETIC AUTHORESSIAL NOTE:** (Crumples to the ground) I AM PATHETIC. Admittedly, I made no promises about update time, but… TWO MONTHS NOOOOO. Please forgive me, lovely readers. My excuse is that I got a temporary job, followed by school, followed by a period where I forgot about this story entirely, followed by a bout of epic laziness. (Sniffle) I'm horrid, I know.

At least I can be assured that people have had enough time to vote – and I also needed ENOUGH votes for a final score. That being said, I'd like to thank everyone who voted. It was much appreciated!

And finally, I recently read _Angels and Demons_ by Dan Brown, and I wanted to know: does anyone ELSE find Inspector Javert and Commander Olivetti to be surprisingly similar? Or is it just me?

**Disclaimer:** You should all know what's mine and what isn't by now!! But you may not remember since I was GONE FOR SO LONG (headwall). That being said, I own the plot and my OC's. Everything else belongs to important people who are likely richer than I am. Boo.

* * *

**-.-****Javert's POV****-.-**

The five most important questions for _any_ officer of the law to ask have always, _always_ been: who, what, where, when, why, and how. These are the questions I asked myself when I woke up, abruptly and with a slight sense of panic overriding my mind.

_What_ on earth had happened?

_Where_ the heck was I?

_When_ had I become so careless?

_Why_ were these people after _me_?

_How_ had that maniac gotten inside the house?

And, last but hardly least of all, _WHO IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE WAS BEHIND THIS MADNESS?!_

I sat up and blinked in surprise. Rather than the dank, dim warehouse I had expected to find myself in, I was located in a very luxurious, large room, filled with expensive furniture and… toys. I eyed the stuffed cat that was lying on the pillow next to me with a mixture of disgust and annoyance.

Obviously, I was once again in that blasted child's body that I had learned to hate so very, very much. I was _so much smaller_. Everything was harder. Everything was an _effort_. Wishing desperately but rather uselessly for my normal adult size and strength, I slid down off the impressive four-poster bed in which I had apparently been resting and walked over to a nearby dresser. I engaged in an impressive wrestle with the abnormally heavy drawer – oh wait, that was just me, in the weak body of a _child_ – and finally got it open to reveal several layers of what looked like idiotically expensive shirts. But they were my size, and I was hardly going to sneeze at them when I was currently garbed in some kind of frilly nightshirt.

I had put on a shirt and a pair of pants when the bedroom door clicked open and someone entered softly – obviously, they expected me to still be sleeping. I chose to ignore them, exerting my pathetic strength on the handles of yet another drawer, this one presumably containing socks.

"Antoine! You're awake!"

Before I could react, or respond in any way, a hand fell on my shoulder and spun me around, and I suddenly found myself wrapped in a tight, affectionate hug.

I am not ashamed to say that I promptly engaged in a frantic, clawing, tooth-and-nail fight to the if-necessary _death_ in order to regain my freedom.

Only once I was safely free of his grip and halfway across the room, crouching in a temporarily safe position on the far side of the large bed, did I finally attempt to identify the man. It wasn't hard, since I'd met him for the first time barely three days ago.

"YOU! You're that – that _man_! Friedrich Rousseau!"

He beamed, despite the disheveled appearance that he had acquired from what I had mentally labeled "The Hug Encounter." "So he told you my name! You must also know that you're going to live here from now on. You're my foster son, in a sense."

NOT IF I HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT. "My name is not Antoine! It's Ja – Luc! It's LUC! My _name_ is _Luc_! And I am NOT your _foster son_, or even your _real_ son! GET AWAY FROM ME!" He was crossing the room towards me. "APPROACH NO FURTHER!" He quickened his pace. Seeing no other chance of escape, I threw myself to the floor and crawled under the bed.

"Antoine, _please_ come out," he pleaded. The bed creaked above me as he sat down on it. I sneezed as the movement dislodged some dust bunnies, which for some reason decided to alight on my face. "I don't want to start our relationship off poorly."

I remained silent.

"Look… whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me. You have nowhere else to go. So please, Antoine, give me a chance."

"My. Name. Is. LUC."

"Yes, Antoine, he told me you'd be a little upset and confused due to a recent and entirely accidental hit on the head. But he said it would clear up eventually…"

I seized the opportunity to discover the identity of the man who was putting me through all of this. "Does this mysterious 'he' have a name?"

A pause. "I assume so. However, I do not know what it is."

"So you're taking the word of a likely unreliable stranger over – er – over…" I trailed off. _Over the word of…_ What? _A scruffy street urchin_?

"Antoine, please come out from underneath the bed. It can't be good for your health."

"I'm not coming out. I dislike you. _Intensely_."

"Antoine. Come out from underneath there _right now_." The bed creaked again. "Or I shall call a servant to _drag_ you out."

"You are of course aware that threatening people, while effective, is not the best way to get them to like you."

There was no response. And there continued to not be one for some time. However, I had not heard him get up or move across the room, so I was well aware of the fact that he was trying to trick – or trap – me into venturing out from underneath the bed. So I remained where I was.

After about half an hour had elapsed, I heard a defeated sigh. "Antoine."

"LUC."

"Please… come out… it's almost lunchtime. Aren't you hungry?"

"NO," I said loudly – mostly to cover up the gurgle of my stomach at the mention of food. I had declined from eating dinner the day before, so it had been some time since my last consumption of anything edible.

"Are you sure?" His voice was coaxing – no, worse. It was _wheedling_. "There will be soup, and sandwiches, and some kind of dessert, of course…"

The transforming glitter had yet to influence me to _behave_ the age I looked. That would take some time yet. "I don't like sweets," I said venomously. A lie, but anything to get this man to leave me alone.

Another silence, this one brief. Then: "I suppose I had better make good on my threat, or you shall never take me seriously. But even with all the work that the maids put into this room, I doubt it's spotless under there."

"I beg to differ. Apart from the occasional dust bunny, the underside of this bed is relatively clean," I reported. Rather than respond, he strode to the door and flung it open.

"JOHANSEN! My son requires your services!"

And so it was that 25 minutes later, after being dragged out from underneath the bed (with a lot of kicking, biting, and snarling on my part), scrubbed to within half an inch of my life, dressed, and then having my hair be forced into even more severe order than that in which I had kept it in my days as a police inspector by a tall German man who was apparently my new_ valet_, I learned just exactly why Antoine Rousseau had run away from home.

It was the only way to preserve what was left of his sanity and sense of self-worth – not to mention his _dignity_.

"EXCUSE ME, but I can dress MYSELF. I've been doing so for the past – GIVE THAT SHIRT BACK RIGHT NOW. Before I HURT you. BADLY."

"If the young master will kindly calm down -"

"I'll tell you what I'll do if you don't _give me that shirt_. I'll tell you in quite gory and explicit detail. It involves – MRRPH!"

Apparently, death threats are considered unimpressive and even less intimidating when being delivered by a four-foot-tall child. The intended effect is ruined even more when the person you're trying to threaten is dressing you by force, and can continue to do so with relative ease even in the face of your best efforts to free yourself.

"I – DON'T – LIKE – YOU!"

He made a sound which might have been assent, or retaliation of the sentiment, since I was doing my best to make his life and job extremely difficult. Grabbing me by the collar of my shirt as I attempted a dash for the door and the freedom it offered, he wrapped a cravat around my neck (somewhat tighter than was strictly necessary, I felt) and nimbly avoided my efforts to bite his hands – crude, but it seemed to be the last weapon at my disposal.

"LET ME GO!" I thundered (as much as I _could_ thunder with the vocal chords of a 7-year-old boy) as he carried me bodily down the stairwell. "THIS IS INHUMANE!!!"

A copious amount of profanities crossed my mind as I began to realize that I was relatively helpless in my current position, being bullied by a nobleman and his suspiciously strong and evasive valet. However, I bit them back. Swearing at your enemies rarely helped, and would have been terribly base of me to begin with.

This thought, along with several deep breaths, brought me slowly back to earth. This was not like me. I had to be calm. Cool. Collected. After all, had I thrown regular tantrums during my career as a police officer, I never would have gotten anywhere.

What I had to do, I realized as Johansen forced me into a dining room chair (despite the fact that I was no longer struggling), was develop a _plan_. A plan that would make this snobby, spoiled nobleman realize that trying to replace his son was the single worst idea of his entire life. Not to mention the fact that this was most likely _illegal_ in some way.

"Antoine? Would it make you feel better to eat your pudding first?"

I opened one eye and gave him a freezing stare that, I was pleased to see, made him nervous. He took a step backwards as he waved away the servant bearing the pudding.

"_Good_ parents," I said flatly, "make their children wait until _after_ they eat their vegetables."

He flushed angrily, but controlled his feelings and sat down abruptly. I did not allow it to show on my face, but inside, I was smirking as I remembered something a superior officer had told me once, a long time ago.

_Treat them like the criminals they are. It is our job to make them realize the error of their ways and deliver according punishment to make sure that they never make the same mistake twice._

I smiled politely and locked gazes with Friedrich Rousseau. "Kindly pass the salt."

* * *

**A3:** Ooh, Javvie's gonna give him HECK. In accordance with the plot. (Insert evil grin here) I don't like Friedrich very much. Can you tell?

**Enjolras:** Yes yes yes, enough commentary on the story. WHAT IS THE FINAL SCORE TALLY?!

**A3:** (Blank look) Tally? For what?

**Enjolras:** …Why have I not killed you yet?

**A3:** I'd like to think that it's because harming girls is against your own personal morals. However, it's far more likely that you simply fail to have any kind of really fatal weapon available to you. Anyway, don't worry, I haven't _really_ forgotten! I just wanted to see your reaction. Heh.

**Enjolras:** (SNARL)

**A3:** Aww, isn't he cute. Now then, what have we got here? Hmm… the total score for Team Tricolor iiiiissss… drumroll!

**Jehan+Feuilly:** (Oblige with pencils and closed fans)

**A3:** Dun da da dunnnn… SIX!!!!

**Enjolras:** ONLY six votes?!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

**A3:** Shut up, we won't know who won until we count MY team's votes. Drumroll!

**Jehan+Feuilly:** (Drumroll number two)

**A3:** And Team Red… with its super-delicious tiramisu cake… has its tally drawn up… with a grand total ooooffff… THREE VOTES!

**All:** (Dead silence)

**Enjolras:** …So… does this mean… we WON?

**Combeferre:** We really won?

**A3:** (Grumble) Yeah, you guys won.

**Courfeyrac:** (Faints)

**E****njolras:** …Pardon me while I scream in joy.

**A3:** Hoo-boy, here we go.

**Enjolras:** YES! YES! YYYYEEEEESSSSSS! YIPPEE! _SACRE BLEU_, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! WE WON! WE _WON_! HA HA! VIVA LA REVOLUTION! DOWN WITH TYRANNY! NO MORE OPPRESSION! THE VICTORY OF THE KITCHEN WARS BELONGS TO _LES AMIS_!!!!!!!!!!

**A3:** (Headdesk) Augh. I will deal with this… later. In the next chapter's EAN. Having decided that, who wants to ask for reviews? Even though I don't deserve any because I'm a horribly slow updater.

**Enjolras:** MEEEEEE! ME ME ME ME MEEEEEEEEEE! REVIEW AND CONGRATULATE MEEEEE!!! HA HA HA! THIS IS _WONDERFUL_!

**A3:** Oh, shut _up_. (Screen fizzes, goes black)


	19. He's A Real Boy

**Authoressial Note:** Hello, one and all. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am NOT a fast updater. But I procrastinated on my NaNo novel in order to bring you this chapter, so rejoice! And I apologize in advance if it's horrible. I just wanted to WRITE IT ALREADY. :P

**Disclaimer:** CHEESE. (Cough) I mean... um... it'snotmine (hides)

* * *

Jean Valjean slammed his hands down on the inspector's desk and glowered at the criminals. "CONFESS!"

"Ah, M. Fauchelevent, please calm down," pleaded Sergeant Fauve Neville, eyeing the older man with nervous concern. "We have a process for this sort of thing, you know…"

Valjean wasn't listening. He felt that, had Javert been watching, the ex-inspector would have been proud. In reality, Javert probably would have locked him away out of abject humiliation. But the well-intentioned man didn't know that.

Heeding Neville's words, he stepped back, but kept his smoldering glare fixed upon the members of The Gang. This interrogation of the rather hopeless villains was only part of what had been a rather long week. After Javert's abduction from the house, Valjean had instantly made a report of a kidnapping. Sergeant Neville, recognizing the man and remembering the boy who had brought down a purse-snatcher all by himself, was more willing to help than anyone else and had sat down with Valjean as soon as possible to hear his story and start an investigation. It hadn't taken them long to catch The Gang, and Valjean was determined to use all of his practically nonexistent police officer know-how to get them to tell him where Javert was.

As it turned out, all he had to do was bang some things around and look intimidating. Nineteen years in jail had taught him how to recognize cowards, and these men were definitely cowards.

"Awright, awright!" Moe grumbled. "But before we say anythin', we want to cut a deal. Maybe you'll 'alf our sen'ence if we tell ya where the bloke's at, oi?"

"Here's an idea," Sergeant Neville began coldly. "Tell us what we want to know, and I won't leave you alone in this room with M. Fauchelevent."

All the criminals paled simultaneously. "We'll talk," Jeremy blurted.

"Now 'old on jus' a minute, you li'l -"

"That dog ya got there." Jeremy motioned to Antoine, who had tagged along with Valjean. "Ain't a dog. Not really."

"JEREMY, JUST YOU SHUT UP OR I'LL -"

"Or you'll _what_?" the overconfident teenager demanded, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "They've caught us. Isn't nothin' you can do t' me."

Valjean refrained from the urge to correct the young man's grammar (it would have completely ruined the intimidating image he was going for) and instead picked up a dangerous-looking letter opener on Sergeant Neville's desk, beginning to play with it. "Keep talking."

Tom burst in. "We kidnapped the kid, alright? Antoine. And then the boss turned him into a dog with one of those potions he's so fond of, and the next thing we know, he's got us chasing around town looking for someone who's down on his luck for us to sprinkle that sparkly power over and turn him into a kid."

"Does your 'boss' have a name?" Sergeant Neville demanded.

"Nah, we dun know 'is name," Moe grumbled. His eyes abruptly took on a shifty look, and he straightened in his seat. "But we _do_ 'ave the potion ya need ta change the dog back into a boy."

Sergeant Neville frowned. "Really, this is ridiculous. I've never heard of such things! Turning a boy into a dog and back again, that's absurd -"

"Frisk them." Valjean's voice was deep, purposeful. Sergeant Neville turned to face him in surprise. Moe twitched.

"We don' have it on us, ya fool, we're no' idiots…" he started. Valjean crossed his arms over his chest.

"Sergeant."

"Well… I don't suppose it would do any harm," the police officer began, and that was when Moe made a break for it. But the door to Sergeant Neville's office was locked, and before he could rip the door off its hinges, Valjean seized him by the back of his coat and flung him back into his chair.

"That was a bad move," Sergeant Neville growled, "and I'm afraid to say that it sealed your fate. Forreche! Louisone! Get in here!"

Five minutes and four friskings later, all the members of The Gang had been deprived of any cleverly hidden weapons on their person, and a vial labeled simply "the antidote" had been found in a secret pocket in Moe's coat.

"Can I have that?" Valjean asked, pointing to the vial.

"Um, I'm not sure that's such a good idea, sir. It _is_ evidence, after all…"

"I won't take it all," the ex-con assured him, smoothly depriving the officer of the bottle and picking up Antoine in the same movement. "Here, puppy…"

The dog was surprisingly eager to partake of the mysterious potion. After it had consumed a few good swallows, Valjean parted Antoine from the bottle and set the black puppy down on the floor, then took a step back.

Antoine shuddered. Then there was a poof of pink smoke that set everyone in the room to coughing; when it cleared, a seven-year-old boy was standing where the puppy had been only moments ago. The collar, which had inexplicably grown with him, was hanging loosely around his neck and was the only article of "clothing" on his person. His hair was short, glossy, and coal-black, and his eyes were the same shade of bright blue as the puppy's had been.

"TOLD YOU," Moe said triumphantly yet irritably from the opposite side of the room, where Forreche and Louisone were keeping an eye on the members of The Gang.

"That was… um… er…" Sergeant Neville stammered, before running a hand through his hair and making a heroic endeavour to regain his composure. "Alright. Forreche! Take those scoundrels to the front desk and book them. Louisone, find some clothing for the boy. And then I want to talk to you," he said meaningfully to Valjean. "_Both_ of you."

By the time the boy was dressed and guzzling down a large cup of scalding tea, he had proven to be very talkative. He thanked Valjean repeatedly for taking care of him, wouldn't stop singing the praises of Javert (though Sergeant Neville failed to make the connection between this Javert, and the supposedly dead inspector – after all, it wasn't an _extremely_ uncommon name), and was eager to let them know his story.

"My father is Friedrich Rousseau," he began, his voice high-pitched due to excitement. "I'm Antoine Rousseau. I ran away from home a while back because my father and I had an argument over something, I forget what. I felt kind of bad about it and was going to head back home, but then those men in the other room jumped me out of nowhere, took my necklace, forced some kind of really sweet liquid down my throat, and the next thing I knew I was a puppy!!" He was bouncing up and down in his chair as Louisone refilled his teacup. "Thank you, sir. And anyway, I thought it was really cool at first, but everyone ignored me and big dogs tried to eat me and a tomcat scratched my nose and I tried stealing food, and that worked for a while but then someone caught me and got really mad and started chasing me with a broom or something, and so I ran and ran until I managed to sneak into that dark house, and that's where YOU found me, M. Fauchelevent!"

Valjean smiled. "Actually, M. Javert found you, my dear boy."

"I'm sure you want to go back home to your father now, correct?" Sergeant Neville interjected. Valjean shook his head in amusement, then frowned; it was likely that if Javert was indeed supposed to be Antoine's replacement, he would be at the Rousseau residence right now.

"Yes," the boy chirped. "I know where our house is, but I can only find my way there from the Seine river bridge. If we go there, I can find my way home easily."

"Very good," Sergeant Neville said. "Ah, that's probably best left until tomorrow; I would like to accompany you, and it's getting rather late. M. Fauchelevent, is it alright if he spends the night at your house?"

"Of course," Valjean said, drawing the boy close. "We will see you tomorrow then, Sergeant Neville."

The man tipped his hat. "It's my pleasure, sir."

"Come, Adrian."

The boy followed happily. "You know, with you taking care of me, it wasn't half bad being a puppy, but my father will probably be happy that I'm still alive! And human!"

"I'm sure he will."

"Hey, now that I'm a real boy again, do I have to eat out of my food bowl on the floor or do I get to sit at the table with you and the pretty girl?"

Valjean chuckled. _This_ was true 7-year-old behavior. "The 'pretty girl' is named Cosette, and of course you will eat with us. Actually, I think I know what we're having for dinner…"

The two exited the police station, headed home to warm food, pleasant conversation, and a doubtless surprised Tia and Cosette.

Meanwhile, Javert was not having half as much fun.

* * *

**A3:** Lulz, _Pinnochio_ reference. Antoine is indeed a "real boy" once again… BUT FOR HOW LONG?

**Enjolras:** OH NO YOU DON'T. You are NOT going to drag this thing out any longer.

**A3:** (Le sigh) You're right, Enj, I'm not. I've only got a couple more chapters planned after this, and possibly an epilogue. But this story is drawing to its end…

**Enjolras:** FINALLY.

**A3:** Which means I'll FINALLY be free to move on to other fanfiction projects! Also, you guys had better be appreciative of the fact that this chapter was approximately 2,000 words that COULD have gone into my NaNo novel.

**Enjolras:** Oh yes, I'm SO flattered that you chose to come ABUSE me instead of work on other, more important projects.

**A3:** OH, put a sock in it. You won the Kitchen Wars, didn't you?

**Enjolras:** Yes… but now my _amis_ are gone and I'm stuck with just YOU again.

**A3:** Well you should have said something if you were lonely. I can bring back Grantaire –

**Enjolras:** NO! NO! I TAKE IT BACK!

**A3:** Just hang in there, Enjy.

**Enjolras:** I'm TRYING. But you owe me a personal psychiatrist after this experience.

**A3:** Pft, I owe you NOTHING. Now, beg for reviews. We got a grand total of two for the last chapter and I'm worried. DID I SAY SOMETHING WRONG?!?!

**Enjolras:** Probably.

**A3:** NOT HELPING.

**Enjolras:** (Sigh) Please review… they might make her update faster and then I'll be out of here that much faster.

**A3:** EAN Team, over and _out_. Good job, Enj.

**Enjolras:** Hmph.


	20. The River Seine

**Authoressial Note:** HIIIIII kids! Look at this! A RAPID UPDATE! It's absolutely AMAZING! Rejoice with me! And hope that the next one will be just as fast!

**Disclaimer:** OH COME OOOOONNNN (lawyers glare) Meep. Fine. I OWN ZEEEROOOOO... except the plot and any of my original characters. (Throws a pencil at the lawyers) Now leave me alone.

* * *

**-.-Javert's POV-.-**

"I'm free! Free! FREEEEEE!"

Of course, I wasn't enough of an idiot to yell such a thing aloud whilst executing an escape attempt. But for all my caution and silence, this didn't stop Johansen from breaking down the door when he found it locked and bursting into my bedroom just as I slipped out the window.

"SIR! YOUR SON IS RUNNING AWAY! …AGAIN!"

I hit the ground (it was a first-floor window), stumbled, then regained my balance and took off running. I had to go fast and far as soon as possible; my 7-year-old body was no match against the grown men who would very soon be on my heels.

I quickly scaled a tree next to the wall that surrounded the mansion and clambered over it. The gardeners were shouting behind me, but I ignored them and dropped down onto the far side of the wall.

"_**ADRIAN**_!! NO! _NOT AGAIN_!"

I kept running. Yelling "My name is NOT Adrian!" over my shoulder would not only _not_ help, but it would also give away my position. And anyway, I'd been fighting him for a whole week now. He still refused to acknowledge that I was not his son, despite all the havoc I'd wreaked in his household. I had driven Johansen nearly to distraction. The man had adopted the habit of dropping things, and his left eyebrow had not quit twitching for the past three consecutive days. I felt bad.

Almost.

"Adrian! ADRIAN!"

NO. I was NOT going back there. I kept running, even as my 7-year-old body began to feel the strain. My feet pounded the sidewalk perhaps harder than was strictly necessary, but I was _desperate_.

My mind flew to the one person who knew me in this body, the one person who could help me. _Valjean._ I had to find Valjean.

And somehow, I knew where to find him.

**-.-3****rd****-person POV-.-**

After stopping by the police station to pick up Sergeant Neville, Valjean and Adrian made their way to the Seine River. It was a beautiful day, so they walked.

As the bridge came into view, Adrian became noticeably more excited, grabbing Valjean's hand and dragging him towards it. Valjean laughed, not concerned about being disturbing any pedestrians since there was only one other person on the bridge.

"Alright, alright, alright!" Adrian said, hopping in place as he looked around. "Um, I think my house is over the…ere… hey, what's that?"

"What's what?" Sergeant Neville asked, turning with Valjean to look in the direction that Adrian was pointing.

**-.-Javert's POV-.-**

The Seine River. The place where it had all started. My breathing was painful and jagged, my legs felt like they were about to give out, and black spots were swimming in front of my eyes, but I kept running. Giving up wasn't an option. I HAD TO MAKE IT.

Just before I reached my destination, I tripped. I tried to break my fall with my hands, but I only ended up scraping them badly. I tried to get up, but before I could finish the action, a hand grabbed me by the back of my shirt and hauled me to my feet.

I was all set to start fighting against my captor when he spoke. "_Javert_? I mean, Luc – oh, never mind, _what are you doing here_?"

"ANTOINE!" M. Rousseau dashed up. "Sir, please, release my son. I'm afraid he -"

"Luc," Valjean ground out without releasing me, "is _not_ your son. THIS is your son."

I was as surprised as Rousseau when Valjean presented a boy exactly my current size, with darker hair and bright blue eyes.

"Hello, Father," he said, and flung himself at the astonished Rousseau.

"ANTOINE!" I was getting violently sick of that name. "B-b-but, but… _how_?"

Yeah. That was what _I_ wanted to know.

Suddenly, there was a cry from somewhere behind us. Valjean dropped me, and we all turned to see Sergeant Neville lying on the bridge, not unconscious but obviously in pain. Standing over him was a man who was swathed in a dark cloak, his face concealed by a massive hood, but despite this I recognized him.

"YOU!"

But it wasn't just me who shouted it. My annoyingly high-pitched voice clashed with Valjean's tenor and Rousseau's baritone.

"Ha ha ha ha! Yes, me," the nameless, faceless psychotic sneered. Valjean scowled, then shoved a bag into my hands.

"Here."

I blinked and looked into the bag. On top of a set of my clothing, there nestled the bottle of potion that would turn me back to normal.

"Ah." And I was gone.

**-.-3****rd****-person POV-.-**

"You're the man who started all this. _You're the one who told me my son was dead_!" Rousseau's voice was anguished and hysterical. "Why? WHY would you do this to me? Was it for the money? WAS IT?!"

The madman's smile was clearly visible, even though the rest of his face was hidden.

"Ha! You can't truly think I did this for any kind of profit. No, Friedrich, I'm afraid that my motive was far different but just as cliché – _revenge_."

"R… revenge? But I don't even _know_ you!" the tortured nobleman cried. The madman snarled.

"Oh, yes you DO." And he flipped his hood back.

Valjean stared at the madman's finally revealed visage, not looking at Rousseau as he shrieked and staggered back, going absolutely white. The ex-convict grabbed the confused Antoine's shoulder, pulling the boy close to keep him safe from whatever might happen.

"I-I-I-It can't be…"

"Ahahaha, but it IS! Hello, Friedrich. You know, when you try to kill someone, you really should make _sure_ they're dead. Chemical explosions, while fatal, are hardly accurate."

"What are you talking about?" Valjean's voice was forcedly calm. "I think I deserve to know what's going on here."

The madman smirked. His entire face was horribly scarred, and the scars twisted in a gruesome fashion as the smirk curved up the corners of his lips.

"Of course. Permit me to explain," he said with a mocking little bow.

"Eight years ago, dear Friedrich and I were the best of friends. We were also, technically, brothers – you see, we were the wards of the now deceased M. Rousseau, and planned to split his massive fortune between us when he died. Dear Friedrich, _darling_ Friedrich, always did have a touch of the ruthless in him. He was also greedy, and determined to rise to the top in the world of the rich and the famous. Though I must say, the world I found myself in due to his evil manipulations proved to be far more useful – but I digress.

"Suffice to say that the man you now see before you tricked me, locking me into a room where a scientific experiment was going terribly wrong. Chemical explosions are never fun. He wasn't worried about the lack of a body, because the explosion somehow managed to start a fire, and by the time it was put out, any and all remaining evidence was destroyed and _I_ had escaped. Windows, Friedrich," he said, waving a finger at the nobleman and clicking his tongue reprovingly. "Tsk, tsk."

"You -" Rousseau started.

"Be silent. I'm not _done_ yet," the madman singsonged. "After getting the best treatment I could under the circumstances – I didn't want you to know that I was still alive, Friedrich; after all, you'd tried to kill me once and you could easily do it again – I disguised my repulsive appearance and went into hiding. And it was there that I discovered my calling as a criminal mastermind. After all, darling, if you can't beat them, join them, or so I've heard it said."

"You're insane," Rousseau seethed. The psychotic made a high-pitched keening sound.

"You say it like it's a bad thing. You should be proud, Friedrich. You made me this way, after all."

"I did not -"

"Silence, I'm not finished." He began to circle Rousseau. "Many years of experiments finally equipped me with a stock of potions and powders that could be used for a number of useful purposes. And it was then, Friedrich, it was _then_ that I began to plot your downfall. Kidnapping your son, transforming him, putting his pendant on another body, finding his replacement... it was all brilliant. Until," and here his gaze flickered to Valjean and the downed sergeant, "it was all put right again by well-meaning outside interference."

He stopped. "I'm going to make you suffer, you see. Oh, you've fouled up my little plan, locked away my men, but that won't stop me. Behind this layer of insanity, there is genius. A genius that, I'm sorry to say, you helped cultivate. Without your assistance, dear Friedrich, I might never have reached or realized my full potential."

The dramatic scene was interrupted as Neville hauled himself to his feet in the background. "Alright, I'm not sure what just happened here but you are under arrest, sir!"

The maniac rolled his eyes and acted swiftly. Lunging forward, he snatched Adrian from Valjean's hands and moved like lightning. Before any of the men knew what was happening, he had the boy on his back, halfway over the bridge parapet, pressing a formerly concealed revolver to his temple.

"ADRIAN!" Rousseau shrieked, and both Valjean and Sergeant Neville started forward. But the madman's smile, bright and too wide, stopped them.

"I think you should both know that I have no compunctions about shooting or drowning this boy. I really think you ought to stay where you are."

Rousseau began to sob. "No… not again… don't let me lose him again…"

Valjean's throat was tight, and so were his words. "Monsieur… release the boy. Take me instead."

"Don't be silly," the madman purred. "Your death would hardly have an effect on the cold-hearted fiend that stands behind you. This boy, on the other hand…" His finger tightened on the trigger.

"You're an idiot." The words were issued in a quiet, sarcastic voice. Sergeant Neville turned around so fast that Valjean could almost hear him getting whiplash.

"INSPECTOR JAVERT?!"

**-.-Javert's POV-.-**

I had taken the time to look the part. I didn't have anything to tie my hair back with, so it fell loose and slightly mussed about my face. But I held myself straight, and I refused to show emotion. Emotion was a weakness, and one that criminals, especially insane criminals, could sense.

This man was not about to get the best of me again.

"Hello, Neville," I said coolly. "A pleasure to see you again. Now be quiet." I strode towards the lunatic.

"STOP!" he shrieked. "DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"

"Your hysteria is indicative of uncertainty," I said without pausing, without faltering. "You don't really plan to go through with that. If you were going to kill someone, you would have done it a long time ago." I halted about a foot away from him. "Murderers, monsieur, do not beat about the bush."

"And I suppose you would know?" he said sarcastically. I allowed a grim smile to alight upon my features.

"Perhaps you do not recognize me. But I, monsieur, I know you. You are none other than André Rochel." His eyes flickered at the usage of his name. "Yes. I was the lead investigator on your case – after all, a chemical explosion inside of a locked room is hardly an _accidental_ situation. We never found a body, though M. Rousseau said you had been inside." I gestured carelessly in the direction of Antoine's father, never taking my eyes away from André's. "You were, apparently, quite a respectable and intelligent young man. Obviously, it was the explosion that addled your brain – had you simply come forward to the police, we would have soon ascertained the identity of your killer and neither you nor Monsieur Rousseau would have had to undergo this drama, to say nothing of myself, Antoine, and M. Fauchelevent."

His grip tightened on the front of Antoine's shirt. "Don't talk of changing the past! THE PAST CANNOT BE CHANGED!"

"A well-known fact," I said calmly, then abruptly changed the subject. "Monsieur André, your hostage is quite frightened. And truly, I would be a better choice of hostage."

"No," Valjean breathed from out of my line of vision. "Javert -"

"Though I resigned from the force prior to the outrageous events of the past several months, I am still a valuable asset to the city. In addition, I have been an important part of your plan and know too much about you for you to simply release me. The boy is but seven. He will soon forget things. But I," and here all mercy fled from my eyes, "will remember it forever."

"Here's an idea," he said, and his lighthearted tone caused a twinge of alarm in my chest. "Why don't I just get rid of you both?"

I saw him push the boy. I saw him raise the gun in my direction. I saw him pull the trigger. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Valjean move to leap in front of me and prevented this from occurring by launching myself at him. The bullet sped by, missing us both as we collided.

Valjean tried to grab me, but I wrenched away from him and ran for the side of the bridge. Neville had already shot André, but with his last bit of strength the madman managed to fire off one last shot. An all-too-familiar burning pain erupted in my arm, but I ignored it as I sprang onto the parapet.

"JAVERT! NO! DON'T! I CAN'T LET YOU -"

I had already jumped. I barely had enough time to brace myself before I hit the rushing water, which instantly seized me and pulled me under. Fortunately, the shock of the cold liquid had not caused me to lose my presence of mind, and I inhaled before it rushed over my head.

I resurfaced and looked around to see Antoine pop up a short distance away. My own discomfort only served to inform me that as small as he was, he must be experiencing an even greater amount. If I swam with the current, I would be able to overtake him.

The cold water had only served to make the pain in my arm worse. I bit back an agonized cry as I struck out towards the boy. I didn't have to use much power, fortunately, and I soon caught up to him. I seized one of his arms and pulled him up above the water.

"M. JAVERT!" he screamed, his tone at once both relieved and hysterical. I continued to hold his head above water, my arm throbbing as I did so.

"Calm down, Antoine," I ordered him, striving to keep my tone professional. Looking ahead, I saw a large, felled tree lying partly in the river. I began to kick and swim in a diagonal path towards it, fighting the current the entire time.

Finally, I reached it. Antoine reached out, grabbed a branch, and with the swiftness and energy of a seven-year-old boy, was soon safe on its trunk. He reached out a hand to me.

"Come on, M. Javert! I'll help you! Grab on!"

"Child," I managed to get out through clenched teeth. The pain in my arm was, I am loathe to say, becoming unbearable. The throbbing in my head and the irritating spots that swarmed before my eyes warned me that I was reaching my limit. "Antoine – stay there. Someone will come and get you." Because surely they had not been so idiotic as to simply stand on the bridge and watch as the boy and I were washed away with the current. "Tell Val – tell Fauchelevent -" This was getting too hard. "Tell him I tried," I bit out. "And that I'm sorry. But… maybe it's best -"

I didn't get to finish my sentence. Finally it became too much, and my fingers slipped from the branch that I had been maintaining a death grip on. My head slipped beneath the water, and as the current took me once again, I finally lost consciousness.

_Maybe it's best this way._

* * *

**Enjolras:** ...You're MEAN.

**A3:** Ufufufu. We haven't had a good cliffhanger in a while. I'm quite proud. Also, in case it wasn't clear: Andre sicced his minions on Adrian and got them to turn him into a puppy. Then he approached the grieving Friedrich about his loss. THEN, he got his henchmen to turn Javert into a kid who was supposed to replace Adrian.

**Enjolras:** (Still aghast) Your reviewers are going to kill you!

**A3:** I'm surprised. This may well be the first time you've paid attention to what's actually going on in the story. (Sigh) This is actually kind of sad. RISTI is drawing to its close.

**Enjolras:** WHAT THE HECK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!? DON'T TELL ME THAT THE INSPECTOR IS GOING TO -

**A3:** (Cuts him off) You'll just have to wait and find out like everybody else. Now be a good boy and ask for reviews - we've gotten hardly any recently and it's making me terribly sad.

**Enjolras:** (Turns to readers) I beg of you to please review so that she will update faster!! IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS!!

**A3:** Hey, why do you care, anyway? I thought you didn't like Javert.

**Enjolras:** Well... er... maybe I HAVE been reading your silly story after all. And maybe I just don't want to see it end unhappily.

**A3:** Aww. (Pats him on the head) Live in hope, Blondie.

**Enjolras:** Blondie? That's new. And hardly preferable to "Enjy."

**A3:** Don't worry, it won't last long. It's simply the NaNoWriMo sleep deprivation kicking in. Now, we'd probably beat it so that I can go work on chapter 21.

**Enjolras:** Right.


	21. Wake Up and Stay That Way

**Authoressial Note:** I'm baaaaaaaaaack! Betcha missed me huh? Yeah? ...No? Awww. So sad. WELL, anyway, after numerous distractions and a cold, I have returned. I EXPECT CONFETTI. Unless the only paper you have at hand is of great importance, a.k.a essays and whatnot, in which case, you are exempt from the confetti-showering. EVERYONE ELSE, the shredder's over there.

I regret to inform you all that this is the last chapter of RISTI - but don't worry, guys! THERE IS AN EPILOGUE COMING! So please don't kill me. (Ducks behind sofa anyway) Better safe than sorry.

**Disclaimer:** IT'S ALL HUGO'S. Except for the plot. And Adrian. And anyone/anything else original... oh, you guys know what I'm talking about. Go read the story. Does anyone really even read the disclaimers? That's kind of sad, I put effort into these things. Oh well. (Sigh)

* * *

**-.-Valjean's POV-.-**

I raced alongside the river, endeavouring to keep Javert and Adrian in sight as best I could. The water was too fast for me, though, and by the time I found the fallen tree where Adrian was situated, Javert was long gone.

"What's wrong? What is it? Where is Javert?" I asked the boy, who was sobbing.

"H-he-he's gone," Adrian cried. "The river washed him away. He told me t-to tell you that – that he tried, and that h-h-he's sorry!" He inhaled hysterically. "A-a-and something about it being better…"

Never had I been so angry, not even in my days as a bitter and hardened convict. Black words formed on my tongue, but I refrained from speaking such violent expletives aloud in front of a small child.

"Antoine." His eyes widened at my tone. "Go back to the bridge. Your father is waiting there."

"But -"

"GO." And then I myself was gone, running hard and fast.

Finally I came to a bend in the river that had several large boulders in it. A dark shape was draped across one of these, and I recognized it with a shout of relief.

"JAVERT!"

Without waiting for a response, I plunged into the water and was met with an involuntary shiver. It was frigid. But that didn't stop me from wading in up to my waist, grabbing the inspector's body, and carrying him back to shore.

I laid him gently down on the ground and knelt beside him. "Javert," I demanded, tears shimmering in my eyes, "be alive."

My hand in front of his mouth revealed what I had feared – he wasn't breathing. I very nearly panicked, but managed to calm myself and begin to perform the proper medical procedure. After several minutes of trying to revive him with no response, however, I did succumb to panic and did the only other thing I could think of.

"Blast it, man," I shouted with the restraint of someone who has spent a great deal of their recent past _not_ swearing, "WAKE UP!"

The palm of my hand connected solidly with his face. Before I knew what had happened, Javert was half-sitting up, propped up on one of his hands while the other clutched my wrist in a painfully tight grasp.

Then his face went white, and he rolled over and expunged the water in his system.

When he was finished, he took several deep breaths, then spoke with venom in his tone. "You realize that you are now guilty of assaulting a police officer."

"Don't be silly," I said, the ridiculously happy tone of my voice revealing how relieved I was to have him back. "I didn't assault you, I saved your life." Suddenly, as he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, I remembered what Antoine had told me.

"What was that you told Antoine about your death being _better_?" I snarled. He actually leaned back slightly, his eyes flickering with something I didn't recognize nor care about. "You are INSANE if you think that way! If you STILL think that way! When will you learn, man? When will you learn how much life has still to give you? When will you learn that there are actually people that _care_ about you? When will you _care_ that there are people who care about you?"

His eyes fluttered shut. "Too much caring."

I was disgusted with him. "We're not done here," I growled, and got to my feet, grabbing him by the upper arm in an attempt to help him up.

My disgust instantly turned to surprise and alarm as he let out a scream – horribly uncharacteristic of the Javert I knew so well – and pulled away. "What is it, Javert? What's -" I broke off as I noticed the blood. All the blood. Too much blood, staining his shirtsleeve and dripping from my hand.

"Dear God," I breathed, a fervent prayer for it not to be true. "He shot you."

He cursed, his other hand coming up to cover the horribly injury on his upper arm. "I'm SO glad that you are here, Valjean, offering your helpful insight and observations."

"It's horrible." He had obviously strained the injury – the blood was literally gushing from it, like a fountain. I could have kicked myself for not noticing before. "Oh, _Javert_."

"Don't take that pitying tone with me, I am NOT your charity case." He tried to get to his feet and nearly fell over. I caught him. "Let me… go…" His eyes fluttered shut again.

"No, Javert, no. You need to stay awake." I couldn't quite remember _why_, but it was important. "You need to – JAVERT!" I shook him. A whimper of pain emerged from his lips. I was horrified – such lack of self-control meant that something was seriously wrong. "No, please, stay with me – stay awake -" I thought of the rocks I had found him on. "Javert, you've lost a great deal of blood and in addition you may have struck your head. You may have a concussion. Javert!" I could see that I was losing him. "Javert, do you WANT to die?!"

I was not expecting his answer. "Yes."

Had the man not been in extremely bad shape, I fear I may have struck him. "No, you do not," I contradicted his chilling statement. "Now I'm going to go get help – you need to not move and STAY AWAKE."

His only response was a faint murmur. I propped him up against a nearby tree, hoping that the seated position would help to keep him awake. Then I ran back towards the bridge, towards HELP, like my life depended on it – no. Like HIS life did.

**-.-Javert's POV-.-**

I could hear the rushing of water. I was sitting against something hard. I tried to make myself more comfortable.

Searing, awful pain shot through my shoulder. I tried to stifle a cry of pain but couldn't, which filled me with a sense of deep self-loathing. I hated showing emotion, I hated whimpering like a puppy.

I wanted to open my eyes, but my head was throbbing and I knew that if I opened them the light which was inevitably on the other side would make the pain grow worse.

I wanted to give up. Everything that had driven me up to that point, all of my beliefs, my morals, my determination, it all fell away and I just wanted to GIVE UP. And I would have, if not for a nagging feeling that someone, someone in charge, had told me not to. Someone had told me to stay awake. And if one thing remained with me, it was my ingrained determination to obey authority at all costs. If not for that, I would have succumbed to the feeling of overwhelming exhaustion. Closed eyes would have been closed, not out of fear of pain, but out of slumber. A terribly, terribly inviting slumber.

But I knew I couldn't. So I sat and counted the time in my head. Second by second. Minute by minute. Five. Ten. Fifteen. I was in danger of falling asleep from sheer boredom, so I tried to remember how I had ended up in this situation.

I remembered jumping… swimming… a tree… Antoine. Hm. Water, freezing cold rushing water, all around.

"There he is!"

I recognized the voice. It was Valjean. I remembered now; he was the one who had told me to stay awake. I regretted my decision to obey. Since when did I take orders from ex-convicts? Or convicts of any type?

Hands grabbed me and pulled me onto a stretcher. I wanted to cry out at the pain, but I couldn't – I wouldn't - #. I did. Instantly, Valjean's voice.

"It's alright Javert. We're going to take you to a hospital. You're going to be fine."

A hospital…?

I must have said it aloud. "Yes, Javert. A hospital. You're very badly injured. You need to stay awake, alright? Can you talk?"

24601.

"Ye-e-es. That's good. Do you remember anything after you rescued Antoine?"

My mind was wandering. Suddenly I noticed the tone of Valjean's voice. It was… deeper than usual. Got high-pitched in places. Sounded… thick. A thought dawned. Was he actually _worried_ about me?

"Of COURSE I'm worried about you!"

Huh. That was stupid of him. As I thought things over, I had come to the conclusion that I _deserved_ what I was currently experiencing. I had gone into the situation unarmed, unprepared, carelessly and without sufficient thought or planning. I had then proceeded to be emotional and reckless, rather than cold and calculating. I had brought this down on my own head.

"V… Val…"

"What is it, Javert?"

I tried to collect my thoughts. "We… got him. _Oui_?"

"_Oui_. He is dead."

The idiot. He should have let the police handle things eight years ago. None of this would have happened then…

"Javert? Javert! No, no, don't go to sleep, you can't, not yet, JAVERT!"

He sounded panicked. I wondered why. Really, I was just going to take a little nap. It wasn't like I wouldn't wake up.

"JAVERT!!!"

* * *

**A3:** (Fwips hand up) Yo. In case you skipped the Authoressial Note at the top there, this is officially the last CHAPTER of RISTI. But before you throw rocks and tomatoes, let it be known that there IS an EPILOGUE! YAY! Right? Yeah. YAY!

**Enjolras:** You mean it's OVER??!

**A3:** Yeap, almost. And I can only hope that I managed to live up to everyone's expectations. I certainly TRIED.

**Enjolras:** Yeah... well... ya did good, kid. (Tousles hair)

**A3:** You can only get away with doing that because you're bigger than I am. Of course, that doesn't mean that I couldn't beat you up if I WANTED to... but you're actually not being a whiny brat for once, so I'll let it slide.

**Enjolras:** (Shoves hands in pockets) WELL FORGET IT, I was TRYING to be nice but if you're just going to be all smart-alecky about it...

**A3:** See, there you go again. The Whiny Apollo.

**Enjolras:** I HATE YOU.

**A3:** Good, you're back to normal. Everyone was wondering what was wrong with you.

**Enjolras:** Shut up.

**A3:** No. And watch what you say to me, I'm still contagious. I WILL breathe on you.

**Enjolras:** Aren't you supposed to be wearing one of those face masks? To stop the spread of germs?

**A3:** (Shifty eyes) Um. No.

**Enjolras:** AHA! You're breaking the LAW!

**A3:** Am not! It isn't a LAW, anyway! It's just a recommendation! You know, do unto others...

**Enjolras:** I'll remember that if I ever write a story. Then YOU can be the one under MY control.

**A3:** Oh, quit whining. You won the Kitchen Wars, didn't you?

**Enjolras:** Yes, and in return, YOU took all my Amis away.

**A3: **They left on their own accord. Stuff to do back in their time period.

**Enjolras:** Which is also MY time period, yet you don't see ME going anywhere, do you?

**A3:** Relax. Your clone is busy doing all your schoolwork for you.

**Enjolras:** (Shrieks) MY _WHAT_??!?!!

**A3:** For conveniency's sake only, Enj-face, conveniency's sake. He'll disappear when you return. And he won't start any revolutions without you, promise. Now be a good boy and ask for reviews.

**Enjolras:** Does GRANTAIRE know it's a clone? Does my clone know Grantaire??!

**A3:** Will you CUT IT OUT? Worrying makes your skin freckle. Or something. Now, REVIEWS! (Poke)

**Enjolras:** Someone rescue me, I need to go back to my time period RIGHT NOW! Before my clone starts trying to reform Grantaire or something, and being NICE to him...!!!

**A3:** Dude. It's your CLONE. You DO know the definition of "clone," do you not?

**Enjolras:** AHHHHH!!!

**A3:** Okay, the pretty-boy is having a meltdown, so please drop a review while I try to calm him down with cookies and milk. We shall shortly return to our regularly scheduled programming. (Waves goodbye)


	22. The Epilogue

**Authoressial Note:** B'AWWW IT'S OVERRRRR. (Sob) See the EANs for more sadness and Enjolras's last appearance.

RANDOM RISTI TRIVIA: You guys wouldn't have any EANs featuring Enjy-boy at all if it wasn't for RISTI's very first reviewer, whose name is Enjy-Glomper. I decided to play to her preferences and include Enjy in the EANs. WASN'T THAT INTERESTING? You've learned something new. Tell your friends. :)

**Disclaimer:** (Cough) I will attempt to be professional about this, for once. I do not own _Les Misérables_. …Well, that was boring. I WANT COOKIES.

* * *

It was snowing. Cosette was drinking hot tea in the kitchen, watching the clock intently over the brim of her cup. Her father had left the house an hour ago to retrieve M. Javert from the hospital. She was expecting them any minute.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Tia stepped inside, bearing a load of firewood in her arms. "Hello, m'zelle. You might be interested to know that on my way back inside I saw your father and that friend of his across the street. They're on their way here."

"Oh, really? I shall go meet them at the door." Abandoning her seat and her tea, she left the kitchen and wound her way through the living room until she was standing in the foyer. Grabbing a shawl, she opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

Through the falling flakes, she could see the figures of two familiar men as they walked towards the house. One was her father – slightly taller and broader in the shoulders than the other man, whose dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and whose face bore an irritated expression. Their mouths were moving, and they were obviously holding some kind of a conversation, but she couldn't hear them.

"I can walk by myself, Valjean. You don't need to keep holding onto my arm like I'm about to fall over."

Valjean smiled. "Oh, no, this isn't in case you fall, Javert. It's in case you try to run away."

"And why would I do that? It's not like I have anywhere to go."

"You see, I would believe you, except the hospital staff – your doctor in particular – told me that you tried to flee the hospital at least twice, both times while you were in no condition to escape."

Javert closed his eyes briefly, his irritation growing as he recalled those efforts. The first time, he had reopened his injury and passed out from blood loss. The second, he had almost succeeded but had been spotted and tackled at the last minute by some rather strongly-built medical aides.

"Fine. Have things your -"

"COSETTE!" The ex-inspector suddenly found himself being dragged bodily down the sidewalk. He almost tripped in his effort to keep up. "What on Earth are you doing out in the snow – and dressed so _lightly_ for this weather?!"

"I was waiting for you, Papa – and your friend, of course," Cosette added, smiling beatifically at Javert, who was unimpressed and still trying to recover from Valjean's mad dash of paternal worry. "Don't worry, I haven't been out for very long."

"Good. Inside," Valjean told Javert, pushing him across the threshold and into the house. "Ah! I smell tea."

Javert didn't smell any tea, but he didn't have his former archenemy's nose for domestic activities. Javert was not a domestic person.

"I'll join you in a minute," he said as he took off his snow-covered coat and hung it up at its place by the door. "I have something to do upstairs."

"Very well! But don't take long," Valjean said reprimandingly. A wry smile twisted the man's lips.

"I won't."

**-.-Javert's POV-.-**

After weeks – long, horrible weeks of boredom and feeling like a helpless weakling – spent at the hospital, I was finally free. I had had plenty of time to think, lying alone in my bed or wandering the corridors restlessly with hospital staff on my heels (they didn't trust me not to make another escape attempt), and I had finally decided what to do with my life – for now, at least.

I was retrieving my things from Valjean's room when he knocked on the door and poked his head in.

"Hello. You've been up here for a while – what are you doing?"

"I'm packing." I gestured to my bag on the bed. His expression, curious a moment before, fell.

"_What_? But surely you're not leaving us and going back to that hole in the ground that you refer to as a house!"

"No." Before he could get his hopes up, I finished, "I'm leaving you and going away from here, possibly even away from France."

Valjean's face registered shock. "………WHY?" he managed after a long pause.

I shrugged. Which was strange, because I never shrug. "I want to start over. I spent the better part of my life chasing _you_, and now that I've discovered that you weren't worth my time – no insult intended – I don't much feel worthy of taking up my old occupation once more. At least, not here." I paused and stared into the depths of the now-empty wardrobe. "It's just… I never felt that I had a chance. I was born in a jail. I've spent my whole life around them. It was either uphold the law or break it." I sighed. "And you were a hardened criminal once; perhaps your actual crime was not so elaborate, but years in the galleys made you cruel and bitter. And look at you now." I waved a hand in the air. "If you can change like that… so drastically… well, I thought maybe I could too."

"Of course you can, Javert." I hated the gentleness, the _kindness_ in his voice. He was making me feel like a charity case again. "But I will be sad that you're leaving, and so will Cosette. Won't you at least consider staying?"

I turned and raised one eyebrow. "If I'm trying to get a fresh start, do you _really_ think I want a constant reminder of my past hanging around all the time?"

"You can't escape your past, Javert." My eyes widened, and I stepped back. Oh no. Oh, _no_. He was using THAT tone of voice. The cheerful, lilting one that he used only when he had made up his mind on something and was quite determined to see it through, come what may.

"You are NOT -"

"I've been here for quite some time, and frankly, I've seen enough of the place. And so has Cosette, I think; it's not good for a child to grow up in one place anyway. They should travel and see the world."

I bristled. "You are NOT stalking me to Lille!"

"Oh, so THAT'S where you're going." He began to walk towards me. "_Almost_ out of the country, but not quite. It's certainly far away from here."

"VALJEAN -" I began warningly, but broke off as I realized that he had backed me into the wall – or rather, the window. He brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips.

"I've already talked to Cosette, Javert. She agrees with me. A change of scenery would be a most excellent idea. But she doesn't want to go without you – and she is rather fond of you." Seeing no way around it, Valjean had explained the ordeal with the potions to his adopted daughter and revealed that Luc was actually Javert and vice-versa. She had taken it rather well, especially when Friedrich Rousseau was arrested for the attempted murder of André Rochel and the same man, who had attacked Inspector Javert and been subsequently shot and killed by Sergeant Neville, was found to have several mysterious potions upon his person.

"I take it back. You are dangerous. I'm putting you in prison."

He didn't move. "You know you can't stop me."

"I could kill you," I muttered underneath my breath, but he still heard me.

"Don't be ridiculous. That's completely against your morals. And you know you can't stop me."

"I can try," I said firmly, and was irritated when he laughed.

"In your own immortal words, Javert: 'Don't be an idiot.'"

And then he had the nerve to walk out on me.

Well. I glowered at the bag containing my clothes, inwardly seething at the nerve of the man. After several long minutes of thought, I snatched the bag up and stalked out of his bedroom to find him waiting on the stairs.

"I don't like you," I snapped as I passed him, His face lit up.

"COSETTE! HE SAID YES!"

I had. In my own little way. But I couldn't help worrying about what the heck I had gotten myself into.

~FIN~

* * *

**A3:** Chapters 20, 21, and 22 were all written in a long writing-burst session in three separate Word documents. IT WAS TRULY EPIC. Though I did re-write the first part of this the epilogue. I did my best to write a satisfactory ending while leaving things open for a potential SEQUEL~~!

**Enjolras:** …

**A3:** I would like to thank all of my WONDERFUL readers and reviewers; without you, I probably wouldn't have bothered to finish this. I'm glad that you all enjoyed it! Even if I didn't respond to your reviews, they all made me blissfully happy and I was deeply appreciative of every single one. (DEEP INHALEZ) And now, the moment you've all been waiting for.

**Enjolras:** …!

**A3:** (Sigh) FREE REVOLUTIONARY. Kinda like "free dog," but with more syllables.

**Enjolras:** _VIVA LA REPUBLIC!_ I'M FREEEEEEE (disappears in a flash of white light back to his own universe and time)

**A3:** Aww, and now I'm sad because that means it really IS over. (Wipes eyes with back of sleeve) I'll have to post something new soon. But in the meantime, YOU GUYS ARE GREAT! I don't know if it's customary to ask for reviews for the epilogue, but I think you all deserve to know that if this story made it to 100 reviews I would quite possibly run screaming gleefully through the house until I ran into a stray piece of furniture and fell over. Another thing you guys ought to know is that I'm gonna miss you!! Seriously, you're awesome. Thanks again! (Sigh) And now, I bid you _adieu_.

(Confetti spurts. Screen fizzes. The story officially ends.)


End file.
